


i don't wanna be alone (you're so golden)

by limeli



Series: golden [1]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Angst, College Student Armin Arlert, Dead Marco Bott, Drama, M/M, Music Teacher Jean Kirstein, Musical References, Strangers to Lovers, Temporarily Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-17
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:54:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 76,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24764992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/limeli/pseuds/limeli
Summary: Jean Kirschstein is an amateur musician who likes to cover alt rock songs from the 2000s. He really tries to move on from his brother and best friend's death, but one day he can't anymore. Accepting his life as it is is, in fact, overwhelming.
Relationships: Armin Arlert & Jean Kirstein, Armin Arlert/Jean Kirstein, Minor Reiner Braun/Bertolt Hoover - Relationship, Minor Sasha Blouse/Connie Springer - Relationship
Series: golden [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2078352
Comments: 46
Kudos: 42





	1. there's so much that i can't see

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there! Golden's playlist is now ready. You can listen to the songs from this fic [on this link.](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1OyWHBd0KWPC1Syyrv3hjY?si=sJnAbD2pSuqsyZkmjeKKXg)

Jean's steps were louder than the murmured words of the audience. Jean's anxiety was louder than the eyelashes that were battered at him in unison as he hung his guitar near his waist. Jean making himself comfortable after trying to play a pending song for the third night in a row was louder than the people who had seen him fail for the third time in a row. But he would do it then.

As he tapped the mic, he did what he tried to every night. One, two, three...

"Good evening, ladies, gentlemen, and anyone in between," he said in a low voice, eyeing the youngest people around with a smirk. If he was about to become famous, he might as well have had at least one big fan overnight, right? "We've been here before. Let's do it!"

When he realized he went back to being ignored by most of the people at the bar, he let his shoulders down. That was enough pretending. He should've gone straight to the songs. _It's me, myself, and I_. Again.

As he strummed the first chords to _Sign of the Times_ , he took a deep breath as though he was Styles himself floating around. In his mind, he always did, though. That was why he confronted others in such an artistic way in first place. Anyway, they didn't care. They literally heard him play the same tunes every night. All that resentment towards the rest, the weight of allotting time to the wrong people doing something he loved, all that desperation for an easy way out was played in his small bro, Jam. His long feet sported the neatest shoes he owned, and his attire was nowhere near the one any unemployed person in their mid-twenties would probably be wearing. It was a matter of looking at his audience, covered in hoodies and pastel colors. He felt like he attended a funeral. His dignity's funeral.

Jean carried Jam around as though it were the embodiment of his future. He had done so since adolescence, but now the feelings of codependency hit him even stronger as he realized he was far away from making it big. Before, he took his guitar for a walk with the intention of impressing others, probably making random street specimens swoon at the sound of Daniel Powter's _Bad Day_. He loved calling people's attention. He was sure he had a problem he needed to fix, but now, in the middle of a vegan bar full of so many distractions like the pretentious assholes around him, wasn't the time.

As he finished the final line of the 2017 record, he continued playing the other songs he'd already compiled for his 20-minute show. Matchbox Twenty, Snow Patrol, Lifehouse, and even Green Day had been part of his repertoire for years. It reminded him of why Jam was Jam, why Jam was there, and why Jam's big bro wasn't there anymore. He'd spent most of his childhood and teenage years listening to 2000s emo alt rock with Marco, his best friend. Bad news was his best friend was no more, but he'd leave that for later. Not that it could help him play the songs well for the absolute nobody that was listening to him. He couldn't even believe it when a hand rested softly on his shoulder, the bar's owner letting him know he was done. 

"You played the same ones today," a slightly forced smile appeared on the lips of a tiny bald guy. Jean couldn't believe how lucky he was to own that place. 

"I'll try next time, Con," Jean replied, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck. He would have to get a new undercut before the next time he came back. Maybe that's why he couldn't play any new songs. Well, the new song. "How about next Saturday?"

"So you're giving us a break? Gee, please bring something new!" his friend clapped excitedly. Deep inside, Jean knew it was code for "stop fucking moping around".

"I'll see how it goes. How about some pop?" 

"Whatever suits you, just—" the shorter boy stopped to stare him in the eye. Not defiantly, just pleadingly. "Try."

"That muse will come, Connie. It will," Jean replied quietly, adjusting his guitar case to his back. "Hey, how about Muse!?"

"OK. Whatever suits you, man. See you Sat."

After a quick nod for goodbye, Jean stepped out of the bar surrounded by cigarette smoke and a strong, chilly wind coming his way. Connie had encouraged him to go back to playing live after eight months of unemployment. He'd just graduated as a Music teacher, but it seemed like every school had already found the right one for them. Since he only found a job as a mailman, which he enjoyed still, Jean had stopped his musical practices altogether. He was fortunate to have former high school friends who devoted themselves to maintaining him in proper human conditions. If it hadn't been for them, Jean would've heartlessly disposed of Jam years ago.

 _Up in the Air_ was the name with which Connie had baptized his snobbish sacred place. It was an irony for Jean to feel his heart sink every time he entered the hall just to be left with a beaten, yet much more relaxed heart once he left for home. He'd already convinced himself that he belonged to the devil, so maybe that was the main reason why he never felt completely comfortable around his audience.

As he walked along the street, cars passing by his side, he decided it was a good night to try something new. Since it was a 15-minute walk home from the bar, Jean would try to go all Jason Mraz on anyone who showed up in his way. He got Jam out of its case, and hung the strap around his neck once more. As he strode towards the sidewalk, he started mumbling the lyrics of a song he knew way too well.

"Gosh, you look too much of a Seb to be playing emo stuff around!" 

What the heck was a Seb anyway?

"Excuse me?" Jean straightened his back defensively, turning around to his right side. 

" _City of stars, are you shining just for me?_ " A melodious voice sounded through the bushy wall. If it hadn't been for the words pronounced, he would've believed he had been drugged and dragged into a Broadway musical. A huff stopped him from thinking further. "No?"

Jean looked to the other side of the street to only find a couple walking in the opposite direction. "Sorry, Seb?"

"That was a nice _Never Say Never_ rendition, but you don't look emo enough," he heard a tiny guy appear from the other side of the place's main entrance. The sound of the heavy metallic door opening made him take a few steps back. He held his guitar tightly. "That's what I meant."

"Seb?" Jean dared to ask one more time, stepping closer to the stranger. The boy nodded with a smile.

"Tonight, you look exactly like Ryan Gostling in _La La Land_! Your voice sounds pretty similar, too!"

"Are you comparing me to a novice singer?" Jean suddenly felt the need to gasp dramatically. He didn't know whether to joke about it or actually feel offended.

"Look, you're just dressed in the same clothes, that's all." As the street lights turned on around them, the boy's hair glowed a saturated yellowish brown. Jean stared at him, feeling at a loss of words. "Anyway, I thought you were my older brother when I heard you play. I am sorry to have bothered you."

Jean shrugged his shoulders and stepped forward, relaxing his grip on Jam. "That's alright. You've got a nice voice. Well, I'll see my way home."

As he turned right on the corner of the street, he was sure to have heard a giggle behind him. His eyes went back to his guitar strings as he played the song that stranger had attempted at interpreting. He remembered watching the film when it was released but, since it wasn't his genre at all, he'd soon forgotten it was even a musical. However, it still sounded nice if you really listened to the other boy's version of that _City of Stars_ song.


	2. just one thing everybody wants

Another week, another miserable pay day. At least, part of him was glad to be going to Connie's bar the following day. As much as he suffered trying to put his whole heart into his performances, Jean always looked forward to going back in there and giving it his all. There weren't many things he enjoyed, but music was one of the things that kept him going. Truth be told, he hadn't graduated as a Music teacher for any of the now irrefutably inexistent students he would have or the wonders of high schooling. He just went with the flow, but deep inside, he only needed music. He always wondered whether that was the reason why no school had yet accepted him. Maybe, he didn't have the teacher looks? Who would, though, looking as young as he did? In his case, youth wasn't as beneficial as you'd think. He usually looked pissed, unprofessional, and rebellious. Not even in interviews would his face change, which was something Jean was well aware of.

Sitting on the bed, Jam by his side, Jean googled the guy. Fridays were always the toughest days for postpeople since they usually received lots of packages to deliver in less than 24 hours. If it hadn't been for his nervousness because of what was to come, he would've already lain in nothing but his underwear until the next day. The urge to compare his work was stronger then. That week, Jean hadn't stopped thinking about why someone would dare diminish his skills to those of an average Hollywood star. He went as far as to watch more than 10 videos of Ryan Gostling singing "whatever", in Jean's words. He concluded the guy must've been high, which wouldn't have been a surprise as everyone in that neighborhood seemed to be wild and free.

Leaving his phone aside, he went over the list of six songs he had prepared. Since Connie had said yes to some Pop music, he tried to go with it as much as he could. That really meant making some hard choices, not because he did not know what to play, but rather because he wouldn't show up playing some random Katy Perry song when he couldn't manage to. He would start with something easy, a classic, people's beloved _Wonderwall_. That would immediately change his audience's disposition towards his shows from then on. Then, he planned on playing the Holy Trinity of his 2010s: _Read my Mind, Lost on You,_ and another one of Styles' hits, _Watermelon Sugar_. Then he'd go on with Adam Levine's _A Higher Place_ , which was an underrated Pop song in his view. He thought that, whenever that genre needed to be involved, Maroon 5 should appear no matter the form it took. Since he never had mercy on his people, because he just wouldn't be flexible enough, he would finish with Pop, sure. He smirked as he nodded approvingly. Darren Criss' _Human_ would suffice as an ending for both him and the people there. It was a nice playlist for anyone in there, he was certain.

Jean sighed contently. Changing was scary, but changing could feel nice sometimes.

* * *

Before getting in, Jean took Jam in his hands. He'd usually get it out of its case right before going through the main door since the opening was quite narrow for both of them to go in without any thuds involved. That Saturday, he even had to wear a thick woollen sweater and a jacket to protect himself from the strong weather, so that made it even worse for him to come in unnoticed. Unfortunately, it still wasn't time for acoustic gigs as people were gathered in the center stage to sing along and laugh at the idiots practicing the overrated art of karaoke. Once he put Jam in a safe place, he took his jacket off and shook his head at the mere sight of such a poor show. 

"Dude, never thought you'd get here early," said Connie from behind his back. He would have expected him to appear from the drinks section, but it looked like he was waiting for someone. Jean grimaced for a hello, and Connie let out a soft laugh, watching the two people currently acapella karaoking to the rhythm of uneven clapping. "Sorry about that. It looks like they're college students celebrating the end of the semester or something. Our lights suddenly went off and they decided to keep on singing."

A guy with an annoying face and some blond kid sat on two round tables that had apparently been arranged together quickly and messily. The good thing was that it looked like they were all drunk, so they wouldn't make a big deal of his playlist. He mentally reminded himself to leave Marco a freshly cut bouquet of flowers for having been so understanding to him. This could only be the doing of a celestial being, interceding for good.

"How long do you think it'll take them?" Jean asked eyeing the performers. Hopefully, they would shut up soon. Acapella was different in so many levels, and they were doing it wrong in so many levels as well.

"This is the last song. Good God, I've had lots of fun, though," Connie whispered near Jean's space, patting his left shoulder. "I would've never imagined a _High School Musical_ show in this bar."

Jean grunted. Not that he didn't enjoy seeing cheerful people around, but it still annoyed him a bit. He was really sensitive to noise and ugly voices. At least, in this case, only the brat with the loud mouth was awful. Whenever the blond guy sang along, things sounded much neater and likable. Not that their audience cared anyway. They were all laughing at the show these guys had put on. As Connie went to the stage and congratulated the singers on their awful performance, Jean grabbed Jam and a free chair to get closer to the group of drunkards. 

_OK_ , Jean told himself. _I'll try with Wonderwall. If it doesn't work, I'll go back to doing the same thing again._

As he got into a more comfortable position on the tiny chair he'd chosen, he hung his guitar strap over his shoulders and let the instrument rest on his right knee. When Connie presented him, "the amazing Kirschstein", to the audience, everyone decided to sober up and turn down the blessing that Jean's playing would be. He heard from the corner of the room that same annoying voice commenting how his name sounded like a vacuum cleaner... or a toaster. No one laughed and a hand swatted at the guy's upper arm to make him silent. Jean gritted his teeth and inhaled.

"Thanks, Connie," he laughed out the words awkwardly. "I see most of you are new to this place. Good to know I prepared something new for someone new."

Jean paused and looked around. Everyone was staring back at him, probably giving him a 5-second chance to shine before the room would erupt in unwanted dialogue. Or worse, leaving. As he finished tuning up Jam, he exhaled slowly and started playing the first few chords shakily, never looking at the crowd in front of him. If it hadn't been for the fact that he actually needed to sing it out, he would've counted the seconds before his doom. He was sure more than five seconds had already passed, but who knew when this lot would get bored? People were so hard to trust in this type of thing. He thanked the heavens for having chosen a classic to start. It made him feel a bit at ease in the middle of a dumb group.

Nevertheless, it looked like they weren't the dumbest crowd he'd met. Once he was reaching the final verse of Oasis' masterpiece, everyone kept staring at him with the fondest smiles he'd ever seen in the strangers that he knew. Jean must've been just a couple years older than them, but it seemed like he had fit right in. By the time he finished, the roaring and clapping of those who had been listening nearly deafened him. Connie gave him a thumbs up from behind the bar stools while he cleaned the table.

"I'm sure these songs won't compare to _HSM_ , but," he commented much more comfortably, staring at the people in the eyes. He made an attempt at remembering their faces, but he had always had an issue doing that. It was a shame not to be able to do that on the first day he'd received a standing ovation. "But I'm glad you enjoyed it. OK, then, let's go with another one."

The crowd cheered again in return as Jean continued with his 2010s Holy Trinity. Soon, the bar was packed, and he saw Connie work relentlessly. It was a good night for him as well. Jean felt glad, his fingers pressed against the guitar chords dearly as he rejoiced the feeling of being heard. Out of the five times he'd rehearsed the Killers' hit, that was the first time he could feel like playing it. Happily for him, he'd forced himself to do something he eventually enjoyed. _Maybe, I should try this more often_ , he mentally scolded himself. After two of his three 2010s anthems, he decided to rest his voice a bit. He looked for Connie over the crowd of people and raised his hand. Never had he ever needed to take a 5-minute break in the middle of a gig, but there he was. His short friend nodded frantically, beaming at him. 

"Seb?" A voice surrounded his space, and his eyes diverted from his phone immediately. As though he were about to greet some fans, he raised his head with a cocky smile, staring into baby blue eyes that were way too close to him in his opinion. Red decorated the cheeks and round nose of the individual. Hm. He looked familiar.

"Hey. I am not wearing a suit today. Why do people know me as Seb now?" Jean opened his eyes, feigning a shocked expression.

"Wait, so you don't remember me?"

Jean tried again. No success.

"Sorry," he admitted defeat, biting his lip. Way to gain a fan base, Jean. "It's just that I see way too many faces every day."

"But I was the Emma Stone to your Ryan Gostling!" the boy opposite him said, passing his fingers through his fringe nervously. "It's fine if you do-"

Ryan Gostling. Ryan Gostling... _Ryan Gostling_?

Jean hummed knowingly. "Oh, you're that guy?! Hey there. Sorry about that. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings."

"You didn't," the boy hurried to answer, shaking his head with a smile. "It was late anyway, and we could barely see each other."

"So what are you doing here? Don't tell me you came to see m-" Jean stopped himself. Not everyone wanted him to fail as much as he did.

"We were singing karaoke a while back with Eren, my brother over there," his new fan said, pointing towards the table where the comment about the vacuum cleaner had risen.

"I wanted to apologize for him. He's always been..."

"Thoughtless?"

"Yes," his shorter interlocutor replied with a giggle. "He just doesn't have a filter. I'm so sorry."

"Well, at least his brother sounds pretty smart and amiable to me," Jean whispered more to himself, which caused the blond boy to get even closer to him.

"So what's your name? Mine's Armin." Armin boy talked near him, his smile reaching his eyes, making him look like the kindest person around. "I'm sure you don't go by "the amazing Kirschstein", do you?"

It was Jean's turn to laugh. Getting a friend out of this situation was even more positive than just having a great gig. "The name's Jean."

"Jean. Okay," Armin said awkwardly, moving his head from side to side as though he were pronouncing his name again and again, adapting to a new word. "So how long ha-"

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

"I'm sorry, Armin," Jean murmured while he stopped his alarm clock. "It's time for me to play again. How about we talk after this?"

"Really? I thought that was it!" Armin beamed at him, his pearl-white teeth astonishing him to no end. "That's great. Please, do continue!"

Taking Jam into his hands once more, Jean went for Harry Styles' 2019 tune. Some girls couldn't even believe he was playing it, judging by the amazed looks on their faces. Some of them even sang along to his version of the song, making the boys in the group end their conversations and focus on Jean as well. Having way too many eyes on him usually caused him to panic, but he promised himself he wouldn't let that night go to waste. He searched around the room for Armin, who was quietly sitting next to that pain in the ass and an Asian-looking girl. His eyes fell on Armin's as he sang, and a smile formed on his face as he saw how his brother elbowed him to no avail. His fingers felt stronger against the nylon strings, and his hands felt harder than before. Who knew a fan could give you so much energy?

When he decided to take his eyes off Armin, he inclined his head towards the ground. Little did Eren know that Jean was still staring at them from the corner of his eye, watching Armin excuse himself with both his hands up. At least the girl with them had enough authority to quiet that annoying guy down. Jean smiled to himself, playing the last chords before transitioning to the second half of his setlist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> round two! baby Jean was about to say whether Armin wanted to see him fail... this guy needs some therapy


	3. that smile on your face like a summer

Mondays usually were hard for him because of all the mail he had to organize on his desk. Every postperson in the office had one, each giant wooden block stacked next to the other. On his desk, he had lots of stickers that still hung around from the time his predecessor used it to organize more letters than packages. Times change and Jean grew accustomed to doing the opposite once he entered the mail service. Although there was a sort of dining room by the station's entrance, Jean preferred having breakfast while planning the day's route. This Monday was no different to the others, he thought as he let a ham sandwich slide out of his bag onto the cold wood. He took a sip of his coffee cup, listening to the background music some other mailman had put on "to lighten the room's mood". Jean always laughed at the choice of songs, and that time was no different. Some weird _ranchera_ was blasting through the old man's speakers as he moved on his chair from one side to the other.

As fun and relaxing as he found this job, the people there could really be something at times. He rushed for his earphones, sticking them into his ears with a supernatural force. After such a triumph, he had absolutely no time for lightening his own mood. He had to start deciding on the following Saturday's setlist. After the HSM night, as he'd decided to call it due to the number of youngsters swarming the site, it was his duty to come up with something more to his liking, never leaving the concept of pleasing those guys. Bearing in mind such a notion was, in his opinion, entirely game-changing.

"Looks like someone's in a good mood," he heard a whisper beside him. Though he'd decided to continue his work, a hand was posed on his arm, making him let go of the ton of cards he'd already put in order. He took his headphones off, cackling awkwardly. "Sorry, boy. Just wanted to know what's so good."

"Ash, you scared me," Jean yelled, his nostrils open like plates. "Shoot, don't do that again, gramps."

"So, how did the show go? Any change?"

"Can you believe I got more than vacant stares?" Listening to Jean was the closest old Erwin had ever stood to a poet. He'd always been drawn to that side of Jean as anyone else in the office. Behind his back, they called him "the artist". Most of them couldn't believe how talented he was.

"Tell me about it, fella," Mr. Smith smiled. "Broke any hearts?"

"None, gramps," Jean tsked, rolling his chair away from the old man. He took the mail in his hands and started putting it in order again. "Not that I play for love, you know?"

"So? How come you're so happy then!"

"It was a success," Jean's eyes lit up, a smile creeping up the corners of his mouth. It had been a while since he'd last felt that hopeful about his hobbies. "It was so nice to see everyone actually enjoying my playing and not just faking it. Sure, there were a few annoying things, but there were plenty of dope ones-"

"Dope?"

"You know... great, amazing, fantastic?"

Mr. Smith hummed, turning to his own mail pile. They'd have to start delivering things at 10 am tops if they wanted to be back at a decent time of day. "Dope's the amount of work I gotta do, you see? Look at this!"

Jean laughed out loud, the contagious sound filling the crowded room. Some colleagues looked back in awe at a sight they'd never even imagined. Jean wasn't the type of guy to laugh about things - neither was he the type to show emotion at all.

Once everything was packed and ready, he waved goodbye at the mail clerks welcoming some customers. Jean's feet felt light against the bike pedals that morning. As much as he tried to make his bike go on, he was stopped by the slippery soles of his sneakers. His thin, lanky figure didn't do much to help him with social exposure. Some passers-by had tried to help him get on the bike without any successful outcome, so he soon decided to walk a bit towards his destination before mounting his bike again. He was a loser, but he'd try to keep his decency intact.

After walking past 5 streets, he decided to give it a try again. That time, his feet stuck to the pedals like magnets, and he immediately accelerated to get to the area where he needed to deliver the day's mail. No sunscreen or water drops could possibly protect him from the red skin he got out of embarrassment in the morning sun. He scolded himself while he rode the heavy and rusty means of transport. As he reached the small park just a few streets away from home, he left his bike near the bike rack. He took the enormous mailing bag with him and crossed it over his chest. He put the mail in all the compartments he could and locked the post office's bicycle with care. 

"Excuse me! Mail boy!" _Ugh, no. Not that early_. 

Jean heard footsteps coming his way, so he adjusted his cap to look as professional as possible. It was dirty and dusty. If his supervisor saw him approaching a customer like that, he'd probably judge him and come down on him really hard due to his messy looks. Levi could be a hardcore sanitizing fan, but at least he was sure Hanji would defend him to their death. Patting his t-shirt lightly, he got rid of the dust stains he'd left in it the previous Friday. Then, he turned around to meet the way too familiar smile of a complete stranger.

"Armin?"

"Jean? Is it really you? Oh my, I'm so sorry."

The taller boy suddenly felt shivers down his spine. He inhaled loudly as he crossed his arms on his chest. "Uh, why are you apologizing?"

"Well- Wow, no, don't take it like that," Armin replied quickly, stepping closer towards the rockstar in his eyes. By no means would he want to fight him. "I just... Oh, God. This is so awkward. I shouldn't be apologizing."

As he heard Armin's light giggling, Jean exhaled slowly and offered the other boy a smile. He towered over him, fixing his bag on his chest and staring at the envelope resting inside the blonde boy's sweater pockets. No big deal, then. No need to feel humiliated.

"So I guess you need me to take it to the post office?" Jean replied kindly, letting his hand hovering over the other boy's pocket. "No worries. It's got a stamp, so it'll cost nothing."

"I didn't know you are our mailman," Armin whispered, taking the other side of the letter from Jean's hands and pulling it lightly back towards his own chest. "That's alright. I can take it there by myself if it's too much trouble."

"No biggie." Jean shrugged, extending an open hand in front of Armin's nose. "Maybe, if I take it with me, it'll get to its destination more safely."

Jean observed his interlocutor think about it. He didn't look as confident or outgoing as the nights he'd encountered him randomly. Right then, he looked quite shy and sort of an introvert if he dared add. The bright light of a Spring day let Jean take in much more of his features than the night sky or a bar's artificial lighting, and soon he realized he stared way too long at the other. At least, it had its effects since Armin gave in after locking eyes with him and passed him the letter. Jean made sure to put it in one of the inside pockets in his giant bag. He would make sure to take it to his desk and get him a quick delivery option. Not that he would tell him about that, though.

"How long have you been our mail carrier, Jean?" Armin asked, rocking his feet back and forth. "This is surprising."

"Oddly surprising? I've lost count, man. I guess it's been five months?" Jean laughed in return, tying his hands on his back not to approach Armin and stop his rocking. He found his embarrassment slightly cute.

"No. It's rather pleasant, really," Armin nodded his head, letting a few strands of hair fall on his face. Jean noticed him realize he'd sounded like he was over the moon about the musician's part-time job and soon saw his mouth turn into a straight line. "I mean, you know, it's good. It's OK."

"Well, I guess I wasn't expecting to see people I knew," Jean said in return, twisting the fabric of his T-shirt with his fingers still behind his back. "It's nice to see you again."

"I'm sorry I left so early that night," Armin was quick to mention, putting his hair strands back into place. "We couldn't speak as we'd intended to."

"No worries. We'll probably be seeing each other a whole lot considering how near you I will be."

"Yeah, that's true," Armin sighed, putting both his hands inside his pockets as if looking for comfort in his fluffy sweater. "I guess you're just starting your deliveries?"

"That's right," Jean hummed, still looking back at the tiny porcelain boy opposite him. "I've got a long way to go. I'm sorry I'm leaving so soon."

Both boys stood there in silence. They were not even tense, but it was uncomfortable to spend more than 2 minutes with someone they hardly knew. Jean took his time to get the water bottle his mother had prepared the night before and opened the cap trying not to make a loud noise. As he drank some of the cool water, he squinted his eyes and let them wander around the neighborhood, trying his best not to make them land on Armin's shiny blue orbs. Once he finished, he put the bottle away and adjusted the strap of his bag as a goodbye sign.

"See you around," Jean muttered as he turned towards house number 967 with a package and several bills waiting to be thrown above someone's front yard fence. He walked with parsimony, feeling a gravitational push to stay fixed to the same point where he'd been standing. When he heard no reply, he decided to shake the feeling off with a shrug.

"Wait, when are you playing those fun covers again?" He heard Armin yell behind him, extending an arm towards him as though he'd escaped his presence suddenly.

The Amazing Kirschstein hesitated for the first time in history before talking about one of his amateur shows. Not that he truly believed he was amazing, but he really thought of himself highly when he turned around and found Armin's huge, expectant eyes asking a million questions and waiting for a million answers. "Uh, Wednesday, I think."

"You think?"

"I- uh, Wednesday. Yeah."

"OK. See you then, Jean."

Jean's mind sped up at the sound of such a quasi-promising sentence. He'd have two days to prepare for the most likely foundation of his first fan club ever. As a response, he smiled widely at Armin and turned around, waving him goodbye and throwing the mail a little less impulsively than most days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Armin taking bits of control. I don't know. I just love Armin.


	4. when will you learn?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean goes back to where he thinks he belongs and takes too much time to get there.

A car crash. Very typical of him to find people in the most unusual ways. Marco had been his first strange encounter. They had seen each other a couple times during toilet breaks, but Jean wasn't that interested in older classmates and their awful lot of athletic activities. Not that he wasn't good at those - he just wasn't into them. He very much preferred hanging out with Historia and Sasha in their artistic challenges. Marco had seen him a couple times in the Arts room alone, and they'd sometimes stared at each other - Jean's face as uninviting as ever while Marco's eyes absorbed everything in the scene and around it before trotting away down the hallway. Yet, no, they had never met until the car crash happened.

That day, Jean's dad had brought him along to show him around. His little boy had just turned eight, so it'd be good for him to see what went on at the police station, including every possible cop activity. That day, Jean met everyone who couldn't save him. While they patrolled the area near the highway, his dad got his walkie-talkie off the backseat and answered numbly, as if it had been an administrative summoning. The voice on the other end of the line sounded serious.

"Kirschstein here."

"Sir, where ya' at?"

"Highway."

"Sir, there's been an accident near the main plaza. If you're available, do hurry over."

"Roger." Officer Kirschstein sighed, looking at Jean's cookie-stuffed cheeks. "Kid, I'll leave you by the restaurant. I'm sure the Braus won't mind."

"But dad- It's Sasha's-"

"No 'but's," he cut him off and drove his way downtown, an intermittent red light coloring their way and a permanent white noise filling Jean's sensitive ears.

Turning around the corner of the main street, they soon found a big crowd right outside the restaurant. Jean was intended to go all the way there and even open the heavy glass doors. His eyes widened at an unexpected sight.

"Ok, boy, you go in. I'll go find out," his dad said once he had parked the car. Jean nodded almost violently as he undid the belt and opened the door. He ran towards the mass gathered in the place. Supposedly, to enter the restaurant uneventfully.

When he heard the soft cry of a boy in the middle of the circle, he pushed his way over until he met a pair of eyes that seemed much different from the ones he'd seen so many times before at his Arts room or the toilet room sightings. He heard the wailing of someone who clearly didn't deserve this. Jean stood still and ushered the people around them, covering the fragile boy from more uncalled exposure and understanding the urgency of the matter immediately.

"Hey, you're from the soccer team," Jean whispered, turning around to kneel near the vulnerable soul before him. "Come in with me."

"My parents- I-" Marco tried to say, opening his mouth ever so slightly. "I need to save them, I-"

"My dad is," Jean interrupted him abruptly, assuring him way too confidently, he later realized. "Now, you come with me. You need some water."

After a quick look at the remaining people behind them, Jean wrapped an arm around Marco's waist and dragged him inside the venue, having the Braus look at him endearingly and approvingly. He sat Marco near the counter of the restaurant and rushed to the kitchen for a glass of fresh water. When he returned from the cold area in which all the fridges stood unmovingly, he caught Marco cleaning his wounds with a napkin, avoiding the eyes of the customers sitting near the entrance.

"Whoa, you look like Rocky," Jean whispered, handing him the glass and pouring water from a jug. Marco sniffled, holding back a smile as Jean took off his jacket. He felt the soft texture of it surrounding the base of his neck and comfortably warming his shoulders up. "You know, you'll stay with me until we can see your parents again," Jean confessed shamelessly, holding Marco's hand in his tightly. "I know who you are, and I know you know me, too. We need to stick together."

"I want to know if they are OK."

"Are you crazy?" Jean grunted, displeased and shaking the fragile boy lightly. "Of course they aren't! You aren't!" At the sight of teary eyes and a broken stare broadcast from his very heart, Jean quickly attempted at making up a soft version of it all. "But you'll all be fine."

"You promise?"

"I can try," Jean shrugged with a sly smile, barely lifting the corners of his mouth while he pushed the glass towards Marco's mouth. "But I know you won't if you don't drink water."

* * *

Jean could remember the strength of an implicit promise as though he'd just made it the day before waking up to cold, wrinkled bed sheets and the first rays of sunshine leaking through the spaces in his curtains. Tiny spots of light decorated his face as he shook his head slowly, one of his hands travelling down his face from the tips of his messy, poorly-dyed blonde hair to a chin inhabited by hundreds of spiky black dots threatening to grow the horrendous, uniformless beard he unfortunately inherited from his father. Truth be told, Jean could still bring himself to wear it fashionably if he tried hard enough, if he took a chance on feeling proud of it. Deep inside of him, there wasn't a thing Jean could not feel great for when it had to do with his dad. _Their_ dad.

Dreaming about the nicest of things was nothing less than a privilege to him. He never dreamed at all, and whenever his mind tried to trick him into something similar, he just relived some of his deeply engraved memories. He couldn't allow himself to dream while being as miserable as he felt he was. The good news, however, was that he would have more time to mourn his dead in the suffocating loneliness his room caged him into. A phone rang loudly near his ear, only making things even more unbearable for a feeling that Jean perceived as very similar to having just experienced sleep paralysis.

The phone rang three times before Jean decided to check the caller. Holidays usually cursed him with the company of friends he barely wanted to see.

“Yah-“

“Guess who’s seeing you tonight?” He heard the sung words through the loudspeakers and shook his head with a smile. “You’ll be there tonight, right?”

“I will, Sash. Is the Springies still mad at me?”

“Gee, you sure sound like you’ve just come out of hell. Bad dreams again?” Sasha whispered cautiously after both heard the stifled yawn coming from her side. Jean wiped the corners of his eyes. He could’ve sworn the stinging feeling in there was a product of loose eyelashes.

“You know, the usual,” Jean sighed the words out of his mouth, not even trying to explain any further. He was waking up, and he already felt like sleeping again. Sasha knew after all. "You didn't say 'no'."

“I’ll see what I can get you for tonight. Is anyone else coming?”

“Yeah, Armin’s gonna be there.”

“Armin? Who that?”

He screwed it up.

“Hey, uh, Sash? You there?” He feigned not listening. “I’m not sure my voice’s coming through.”

“Jean? You said something about Armin,” Sasha replied louder. Someday, she would understand that turning up the volume doesn’t actually help restore _WhatsApp_ calls. “Hey. Can you hear me well now?”

“Armin? Who that?” Jean forced a laugh. “Who on Earth would be called like that? Sorry, I was just stretching.”

“You really are something, huh?” Sasha replied, not convinced by Jean’s mediocre lie. “Whatever. Do you need me to bring you home after the gig?”

“I’ll be fine,” Jean said, letting all the air out of his lungs in one soft blow. “I’m sure I’ll play like two songs and leave.”

After making the promise of not playing a Rob Thomas song in front of her ever again, they hung up simultaneously, both locking their screens. Jean rolled his eyes and looked down at his phone, pressing the lock button to check the time. That day, the memories had lasted longer, he realized. 2.00pm showed up on his screen below a pile of messages from Sasha checking up on him. She often called him on any holiday or day off he had, yet the promise was unspoken by now. So much time had passed that Sasha wouldn’t dare bring the topic back for an unnecessary reason, but Jean felt surprisingly at ease about his friend’s omission. After feeling his vision calibrate to the day’s lighting, he stood up and went down the hallway. He took a quick shower and made his way back towards the closet. Choosing one of his best suits from the Summer collection, Jean got dressed while chewing on the previous night’s cold leftovers. He ran around looking for his beloved blackest tie and put it around his shirt’s collar on a whim. He just wouldn’t forgive himself if he did not get there before 5pm. Next, he smelled his armpits for reassurance and went for the keys behind the main entrance. Slowing down, Jean locked the doors before leaving with a confused look on his face. As much as he enjoyed visiting Marco, he definitely did not feel pleased when he had to do things in a hurry.

* * *

He loved the smell of the dry leaves the previous Fall had left. He loved the sound of his uncomfortable shoes stepping on the crunchy tiny pieces of foliage. That was one of the best things about visiting the cemetery. Some years before, Jean would have totally despised the orange sight that usually welcomed him by the cool rusty bars of the big and long fence that surrounded the gardens of his #1 destination. Right then, nevertheless, Jean felt happy to be able to see him again. Going through the main entrance, he checked the time again, getting his phone out of his pants’ left front pocket. He never did things with his left hand unless he was patting his belly with the melody of a song on his mind.

Worst mistake ever. He felt his hand, his arm, his entire body go against a rather fragile one. Apparently, he’d been too busy thinking of his happiness and a song to notice the person leaving the place. As he wondered whether he’d have to apologize or just leave, a pair of eyes to which he’d grown accustomed met his with an apologetic look and two phones facing down the dry terrain a couple centimeters away from his feet. Jean’s eyes travelled from the boy’s hands clearing now ashy hair to his dusty knees, filled with regret as he let the seconds pass.

Armin’s eyes kept staring at him despite the amount of dirt covering him. When Jean hurriedly offered a hand to help him up, he realized the boy was light as a feather. Taking in the beautiful ground before them, he bent down to get their phones while he used his thumbs to scan the mobiles for any scratches. They seemed to be good as new.

“Weird place to meet again,” Jean said hesitantly, handing Armin his phone with the same guilty look he’d worn minutes before. He did not even remember the time as his eyes fell back on the blonde’s.

“Pretty predictable, actually,” Armin shrugged, carefully patting his phone to double check Jean’s assumptions. “Holidays are a good time to come visit our beloved ones.”

“How have you been?” Jean swallowed painfully, staring at Marco’s grave from his spot. Following his gaze, Armin turned around, enjoying the breeze.

“How have _you_ been?” Armin whispered, squinting his eyes at the sunlight leaking through the trees. “Are you feeling well?”

“Well,” Jean coughed uncomfortably, standing next to Armin, “just feeling as good as visiting a cemetery can make you feel.”

“You are wearing the same suit you wore the day we met.”

Jean felt as though a lightning bolt had split him in half. Looking down at Armin, he saw the blonde’s small mouth forming one of the sweetest, kindest smiles he’d ever seen. At first, the sentence had sounded a bit out of place to him, but seeing the way Armin looked back struck him dangerously violently. Not that words could twist you around, but they sure could do things to your mind.

“How do you remember that?” Jean blushed, feeling his palms start to sweat.

As he found Armin reacting similarly, he took his chance and tied both hands behind his back again. He cleared his throat louder than he’d wished it to sound and was tempted to look back.

“I don’t know,” Armin lied and Jean knew. “I just... got Seb vibes.”

Jean giggled and bowed to him. “I’m so sorry about crashing onto you. I’m the actual worst.”

“Pleasure’s mine,” Armin nodded his head frantically, watching Jean enthusiastically until he thought about the words that’d come out of his mouth. “Sorry, I meant it was my fault.”

“Will you be there tonight?” Jean asked much more relaxed, pressing the bouquet under his arm a bit too tightly to his liking. He made sure to take it in both his hands after putting his phone away. Marco didn’t deserve rapidly wilted flowers.

“I said I would, Jean,” Armin replied lightly, beaming at him. “I don’t want to keep you here any longer. You look like you need your alone time now.”

“So I’ll see you later then?”

“See you later, Jean,” he heard Armin’s mellifluous tone for goodbye and bowed his head in return. Before he started walking towards the coldest spot in the garden, he turned around and watched the boy’s small hands rest on his chest. Jean smiled, genuinely smiled for the first time that month.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I missed writing this so much. It's finals month so it's gonna take a while, but I'll be back by mid July. I'm sure of it. I just love these two a lot.


	5. i can't tell dreams from truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean is feeling low. Armin stays.

He blamed it on the holiday, on meeting before he’d expected them to, on visiting Marco the same day he was meant to attend the bar, on telling Connie he’d go and play even if he didn’t get Baldie’s approval, as he liked to address him when they were not on good terms. Jean realized he sucked as he started playing. No Pop song sounded right enough on a holiday. He never had any issues playing anything he put his mind on, but somehow it didn’t feel right to be the one with the catchy tunes and a crowd that was so different from Armin’s. Being in the spotlight didn’t help either. Connie had bought some weird LED lights “to bring some life into his tiny place” or something like that. It was not Jean’s intention to keep on thinking about what Connie had said with the filthily mischievous grin he immediately put on when he saw Jean sit on the usual seat on the stage.

Everything looked horribly purple around him as he fixed his jacket and got rid of the scarf he was wearing. He hated purple. The only place it looked good was on top of Marco’s grave, magenta flowers decorating its surroundings. That had been his color after all. He had already prayed four times for Connie to turn the annoying flashes of light when he realized Armin hadn’t arrived yet. Four times three minutes approximately equated around fifteen minutes if you counted the seconds each song extended before coming to an end and the seconds he took to prepare for his repertoire. People looked up at him, seemingly being attracted to his being there by the presence of such a strong color. As for the music, nothing had worked well enough for the strangers around him to stop talking over his playing. He didn’t think before starting his gig, he realized as he slid a guitar pick between his lips and tightly held it, grimacing. As time passed, the temperature in the room grew insufferably hotter, and Jean soon found out a reason to stop his concert before going even further out of his mind. The stares had become shorter each time, unamused faces all around him. Then, he’d certainly have to ask Connie for five minutes though it was only the second time he dared doing so. As Connie simply nodded and turned again to face some customers sitting near him, Jean decided to leave his doubts and anxiety out the door. He put Jam back in its case and hung it on his right shoulder, sighing quietly. As much as he loved music, he hated not enjoying its company. Waving a hand at Connie, he decided five minutes would not be enough to end the suffering that night. Even Armin had forgotten about him that night, so there was no apparent reason for him to prolong a failure. Unaware of the people coming in and out of the bar, he crashed onto a few of them, quickly apologizing before fleeing the miserable scene.

Keeping his head down, he walked home relentlessly. He didn’t pay attention to the cars passing by, the horns sounding next to him, or the angry drivers probably insulting him from the core of their souls just to make him move a meter or two from where he stood. Keeping a hand on his chest, he tapped it lightly just to blend in with the beat of his heart. He had done it many times although it was the first time he attempted at feeling more at ease on a busy street. When he felt something pull his arm away from the next beat, he raised his head and was immediately abducted by a strange force coming from the sidewalk. He heard heavy breathing and soon went on alert mode, eyeing the stranger by lifting his head just a little. What he saw was a mass of messy blonde hair, red cheeks and a likely colored nose. Those colors made him stand out.

“You must be crazy!” Jean heard a voice come from the stranger’s mouth, a bit too high for his usual appreciation of it. “Anyone could’ve just run over you, Jean. You may think differently, but you’re not the king of the streets, you know?”

Jean laughed at the reference and released the tension in both his hands. He had readied himself for a fight the other probably was not prepared for.

“You should at least say hi before dragging me here,” Jean replied with a hoarse voice, one he never spoke with. It showed too much emotion. Too much of what he wanted to get rid of. As his vision adjusted to the sight of dark blue eyes in the night light, his shoulders relaxed at the sight of what he had looked forward to spending time with all day long.

“It was either greeting you or greeting death,” Armin whispered, getting his face closer to Jean’s as he shook his left arm firmly. “What were you thinking of?”

“You,” Jean breathed out, the beginning of a smile forming on his lips as he took Armin’s hand in his, squeezed it lightly, and put it away from his arm. Catching a glimpse of a blush on Armin’s face was enough for Jean to laugh his lungs out. “Just kidding – I’m sorry. I just thought you wouldn’t come.”

Standing in front of Armin with the same suit he’d met him, he took two steps back and watched him from a distance. He hadn’t planned to come out as out-front as he’d sounded. It was too much honesty for someone he’d seen four times.

“Oh, Jean, I swear I hurried all the way here,” Armin explained with eyes wide open, a quite endearing sight for a stranger he had seen only four times. “I just had some things to take care of at home. I kinda had a fight with Mikasa and–“

“Mikasa?”

Armin’s eyes opened even bigger, which left Jean wondering if that was even possible for any other human. He paid attention to his every movement until he got an answer. “She’s – uh, my sister.”

“Your sister?”

“My sister?”

“Why get so worked up about your sister?”

“I just don’t get over our fights easily,” Armin quickly told him as though he was trying to shush him. Jean held both his hands up, showing he gave up his concern.

“That’s alright, that okay, bud. I just wanted to make sure you were fine.”

“Thanks, Jean.” Armin smiled at him, his eyes shining even brighter than when they had met at the park. “I am so sorry I’m late. So I guess you are finished with your gig?”

“No,” Jean answered, “I couldn’t. It was a tough day today, and people were like... you know, all over the place and stuff.”

Armin bit his lip regretfully. “No fans tonight?”

“No fans tonight.”

“Well, you’ve got a fan here,” Armin patted his arm, and Jean would’ve thought it was out of pity if it hadn’t been for the permanent red creeping up Armin’s face. “Wanna talk about it over a walk home?”

“Say what? We’ve just met and you’re leaving?”

“I meant to walk you home,” Armin shook his head frantically, almost manically, doing his best to clarify his intentions. “By no means do I intend to leave you so soon.”

“You do sound Shakespearean at times. Has anyone told you that before?”

“Gee, I swear I try not to.”

Jean stared back endearingly as his eyes followed Armin’s legs starting to move. He huffed silently and picked up Armin’s pace, which was way too fast for someone so tiny. Following him from behind, he admired the locks of hair swaying at the movements caused by the wind and the walking. He held his guitar case’s shoulder straps with one hand while he walked faster to catch up to Armin’s rhythm. Looking down at him, he was welcomed by a calm look on his big eyes and a trembling smile.

“Are you really gonna walk me home?”

“Why not?” Armin shrugged, looking up at him and suddenly falling into comfort with their height difference. “I may be of use to ease your pain.”

“You mean you could help me feel better?” Jean replied, giggling as he watched Armin slow down beside him.

“Will I ever stop?” Armin whispered, holding a hand to his heart. “Will I ever?”

“Please, don’t,” Jean said while nodding, also placing his hand on his own chest. “I like it when people talk from the heart. It’s cute.”

“What?”

“It’s... you know what I meant.” It was Jean’s turn to blush at his own words, his mind racing as he mentally scolded himself for coming out so bold. “Emotional people are cool.”

“Oh, you wouldn’t think so if you actually knew me,” Armin assured him with a tinge of hurt in his voice. After hearing his dark tone, he felt the urge to stop the boy and get therapeutic right then and there. “Anyway, Jean, apart from being the mail boy, what else can you tell me about yourself?”

“This feels like a blind date,” Jean answered, pushing his hair back with a sweaty hand. After being met by silence, while turning on the corner of the street, he composed himself again. “Well, I honestly feel too embarrassed to speak about myself.”

Armin looked at him, shaking his head slowly though not in an unfriendly way. “Guess my favorite song.”

“Well, it’s probably–“

“No,” Armin said chuckling as he elbowed Jean. “It’s not that one.”

“Is it from a musical? You look like a musicals type of kid.”

“Do I?” Armin suddenly looked offended, and Jean could truly understand why. In response, he put both his hands together and bowed to his short companion, who fortunately didn’t struggle to forgive such a statement. “Well, it is, you’re right.”

“So? Is it from _Les Mis_?” Jean tried to sound nice about it. He didn’t, however, approve of any versions of it. Not that he even tried accepting one of those.

“I’m not your typical Broadway kid, I swear.” Armin laughed, looking away out of embarrassment. “It’s from an indie musical film actually?”

“Indie? You serious?” Jean asked, his voice an octave higher. “We might as well be friends now.”

“Shouldn’t we like... you know, get to know one another before that?”

“No worries, that’s already covered,” Jean winked at him, putting his falling guitar case into place once again. “I’m sure Marco would app–“

At the mention of the name, he winced and stopped, his hands trembling. Jean ignored the dumbfounded look in Armin’s face. Jean ignored his own breathing, tears welling up in his eyes. He tried his best to come back from the usual shock he felt from mentioning his late friend so naturally as though he still were there for him. Pressing his index fingers to his thumbs, he caressed the thick skin of his finger tips roughly. He counted the seconds in complete silence, waiting for the bitter feel leave his tongue. Some days it just struck him in a harder, more merciless way than others. Being watched as he was, he made it possible to control himself sooner. He didn’t want to lose it in front of such an interesting person. Despite his anxiety going up again, he felt relieved to be in the presence of someone who looked so calm and understanding.

“ _If you want me_ ,” he heard Armin’s soft voice invade him, flowing through the holes of the walls blocking his mind. Jean stared back at him, drying his eyes with his jacket’s sleeves and pressing his lips into a tight line. “It’s a great song. I would love to show it to you someday.”

Jean nodded his head slowly, feeling the night breeze slip through his hair, making its short strands move freely from here to there and all the way back. It felt like a dance, the sound of it ringing in his ears – it was a musical right then. Fixing his sleeves and buttoning his jacket, Jean took a few deep breaths, never taking his eyes off Armin’s. He made an effort to keep in mind that he was safe and that someone was walking him home. He reminded himself that the guy was going to see him tonight. He braced himself, already listening to the only thing he had to say as he felt his vocal chords tremble.

“I’m twenty-seven,” Jean muttered, clearing his throat with uneven breathing.

“I’m twenty-one,” Armin replied, motioning with his head for them to continue walking down the street. Feeling Jean’s approval, he started walking to get them moving.

“I’m a Music teacher,” Jean proceeded, feeling his legs move for him, his body making a seemingly futile attempt at getting things done.

“I’m studying Literature.”

Jean smiled warmly, looking down. As embarrassed and guilty as he wanted to feel for suddenly losing the control of things, having Armin beside him turned the noises inside his head into muffled ones.

“You’re not taking me home out of pity, are you?” Jean whispered while their shoulders brushed as he got closer to the musical junkie.

“No, Jean,” Armin replied calmly, lacing their arms together to make sure Jean wouldn’t experience such despair again. “I want to be here with you.”


	6. on the street where you live

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After collapsing, Jean takes on a mission.

Jean would have said there wasn’t anything worse than a Wednesday national holiday, yet he couldn’t feel ungrateful that year. He attended work earlier than most days, sitting by the desk full of piles and piles of letters and bills in disorder, three bags waiting for him to be opened to get all the packages organized for the day. It was the first time he got to work before 7am, and he had to admit it had been quite a deal to get himself to sleep the night before. Happily, it was the first time he stayed up all night out of strong feelings other than the desolation his nightmares and memories left him with. While he was getting a refill in his coffee cup, he checked his phone with his other hand, a smile on his face. Although everything had gone wrong the day before, he’d easily convinced himself that it all happened for good for the first time.

“So weird to see our artist smiling,” someone said behind his back, the proximity of their body feeling dangerously close. He took a mental note not to check his phone when there were other people nearby. God knows how nosy his coworkers were when it came to unveiling private matters of others.

“Good morning, Hanji,” Jean replied, locking the phone screen the second he felt their breathing near him. He turned around, coffee cup full in hand and feeling ready to properly greet his boss before heading towards his desk. Then, he remembered. “I’ve got a question, boss.”

“Tell me, dear,” Hanji replied with a strangely overexcited look in their eyes. Most people at the post office said they usually had this weird look, but he’d never experienced it first-hand. “You’ve been here for six months, and you’ve never had a question for me before. It must be really important.”

Jean hesitated for a second, staring into Hanji’s eyes with uncertainty. Ever since he had started working for the postal service, he had never really approached either them or Mr. Ackerman about anything except for the usual greetings. He had never had any issues at work since he delivered everything in time and respected all the rules by which post workers abided. He could actually consider himself a good employee; he was proactive and fast inside the office, and the majority of the neighborhood’s recipients loved him. There would be no way for Hanji to decline helping him, he thought to himself.

“I have this really really important letter to be delivered,” Jean started, running to his desk carefully to leave his cup and get the letter out of his bag. Taking the envelope in his hands, he returned to Hanji’s office, where they’d already sat down to continue distributing the day load. “May I interrupt you?”

“No prob. Come sit by me and tell me what’s so urgent.”

“A friend asked me to send this to his family on the other side of town,” Jean began explaining, his hands starting to sweat as he pictured a big “NO” inside his mind. He really needed to pay Armin back with the delight of a kept promise. He stood still in front of his boss’ desk, not even making a sound. When he thought of a good way out, he proceeded calmly. “It has a stamp and everything, look. I just need it to be delivered to the correct address, but it doesn’t have any tracking codes. Could you help me put one in it?”

“Actually, you know this is kinda hard, right?” Hanji observed the letter, flipping it from one side to the other in their right hand. “The making of tracking codes doesn’t take place here. We just scan those to assure the sender that it has reached a new place before its destination. However, it is completely possible to be delivered with or without a code. You know not all letters need a code to begin with.”

“Yeah, I know,” Jean sat down in front of them, pointing at the name and address it was supposed to get to. “The problem’s I gotta know whether it was delivered for real.”

“Doesn’t your friend have a phone or something?” Hanji held back a smile, staring into Jean’s eyes out of sympathy. “I mean, I understand, love. The thing is you’d have to go and give it to the postperson in charge of that distribution area. That office is about half an hour away from here, but I’m sure you could do something about it.”

“Is there any more mail you’d need to redirect to that office?” Jean asked intrigued, searching the place for anything that could help him detour from his usual destination. Spending six months working there had taught him that lots of the mail they daily received had been labeled under their office’s code by mistake. If Hanji let him take care of that situation, he would have an excuse. “I could be of help with that and carry all that mail there if you need me to.”

“You’re a lucky kid,” Hanji laughed, patting Jean’s right shoulder almost parentally. “We’ve got two bags with the wrong mail. You’d be doing us a favor if you could take them with you as well.”

“Deal,” Jean said excitedly, beaming at his boss and standing up on a whim. “I am all eyes and ears. Please, show me and tell me where I am supposed to deliver all that mail, and I will get it done.”

“Before I do, Jean,” they warned, the same smile never leaving their face, “you will need to promise to deliver your day mail first. The two bags can wait, but that whole lot of codes can’t.”

Soon after Hanji’s explanation, Jean got back to work, putting his earphones on and barely paying attention to the rest of the people crowding their tiny work space. He put the mail in order quickly, packing it up inside his bag and his bike’s huge basket. It was about 9am when he had his bicycle ready to go, and he made sure to leave all the pending mail already organized for his return. A long day was waiting ahead of him, but he had found the strength to double his work in the safe delivery of Armin’s letter. Rushing towards his own distribution area, he thought of paying Armin a visit to tell him about the update on the delivery status. The usual 20-minute ride felt like a personal race against himself to beat any previous records, and he was greeted by the rusty bike rack which loyally held his bike six days a week. Taking his breakfast napkin out of one of his pants’ pockets, he looked around and found his friend coming from the other side of the park. The musician made an attempt at drying the sweat on his forehead and fixing his cap before Armin could get there, but when the blonde violently stopped in front of him, he dropped the idea of looking presentable. He took a few steps back not to be hit by the running boy, yet he made sure to grab him by the wrists to prevent a dramatic fall.

“Sorry, Jean,” Armin babbled, breathing loudly as he tried to control the air flowing through his system. “I thought you’d be here in ten minutes. I’m glad I left home a bit earlier.”

“I wasn’t expecting you,” Jean opened his eyes, letting go of Armin once he left him standing still. Realizing he’d sounded mean and not surprised, he shook his head, staring into the other’s eyes with concern. “I mean – uh, I didn’t know you’d come along at all. This is good, though.”

“I didn’t want to do it before because we barely knew each other,” Armin replied almost cautiously, doubt clouding his big eyes. “Well, we know bits about one another, but I figured it’d be nice to drop by.”

“That’s fine with me,” Jean said and hummed, feeling awkwardly comfortable around him as he pointed at the space between them with his index finger. “Just remember to stop before we collide.”

“You sound formal today, Jean,” the blonde commented out of the blue, staring into Jean’s eyes for a bit longer than people usually looked at him.

“My dad’s a cop, what do you expect?”

As Jean answered, he instinctively moved his hand to try and flatten Armin’s poofy fringe. Having seen him from afar before they met, he had noticed how neat his hair and clothes looked then. He could imagine Armin was not one to meet others looking less than perfect, so he told himself he would be helping the guy by fixing his looks. When his fingers brushed the hairs on the shorter boy’s forehead, he saw him paralyze, giving it his all not to stare back at him. Jean pressed his hand on top of Armin’s crown and immediately forced his arm to move all the way behind his back. Stopping him on his tracks, he found Armin’s soft fingers circling his wrist, and that time he felt some kind of strange energy paralyze his own body.

In a questioning manner, Armin’s eyes pierced their way through his as he looked back silently. Jean realized he had probably done something wrong, and soon he tried his best to speak before his movements could be misinterpreted. “Sorry, it moved on its own.” _Nice try._

“No problem at all. I hate it when my fringe just parts in two without my permission.” He heard the beginning of his friend’s answer and relaxed, fingers still holding his wrist carefully. “Hey, I actually came to bring you something. I’m sure you wait a lot every day before having lunch properly.” A small tote bag appeared from Armin’s back as he held it with his free hand. Letting go of his arm and taking Jean’s right hand in his, he hung the straps on it and pressed each finger against his palm firmly. “I can imagine working all day with an empty stomach must be very difficult, so here you go. I hope you don’t mind.”

“I’d never,” Jean said sighing loudly and pressing his lips together, telling all his face muscled not to betray him. “This is great, Armin. To be honest, I was about to go visit you. Thanks. I wasn’t expecting this at all. Oh, thanks.”

“Oh, were you?”

“Yeah, I have great news,” he nodded, putting the cream-colored tote bag inside his old, ragged one. Careful not to mix his food with the letters, he looked down and repositioned some things. Deep inside, he knew he was doing it because it was getting hard to look back. “Your letter will reach its destination in no time. After I deliver your neighborhood’s mail, I’ll get your letter and take it to the right distribution area.”

“Wait, so no one around you is in charge of that side of town?”

“Uh, no.” He saw from the corner of his eyes how Armin tried his best not to laugh at him, a big smile plastered on his little face and his eyes watering out of the pressure he felt in his mouth. Opening his mouth to speak, Jean realized the situation was too pathetic to give any further explanations. “I’m sorry. I’ll make sure it gets there.”

“Oh, Jean, you could’ve just given it back to me,” Armin said, watching him with a sweet expression. Crossing his arms on his chest, Jean huffed while listening attentively. “It’s just the monthly letter exchange with my grandpa, and I’m sure he’d be fine if he had to wait a little bit more to get it.”

“You not pissed?”

“Why would I be? You’ve tried your best to deliver it.” He heard Armin reply calmly, and he straightened his back once more to see the look on the boy’s eyes. Hazel eyes meeting ocean eyes, he left the disappointment of not having been as diligent as he’d expected to be.

“You sure?” Jean let himself smile, exhaling the air he’d trapped in his lungs.

“I’d look significantly depressed if I were right now,” Armin assured, taking one step closer to Jean, minding the gap he’d not respected a while back. “However, you can just give it back now if you have it around.”

Jean shook his head, frowning. “No way. It’s the least I can do for you.”

Once again, he looked at Armin, more determined this time. Enjoying the seconds that passed by, he told himself to go and start working. Taking his eyes off of Armin, he unlocked his phone screen to check the time. He didn’t mind finishing late that day if it meant spending some time together. After Jean’s anxiety attack on their way home, they had not even exchanged phone numbers. He thought it was entirely reasonable considering they had only seen each other a few times – they weren’t friends, they weren’t colleagues, and they definitely weren’t anything near a couple. Asking for numbers in such a compromising situation would have been nothing less than awkward in the guitarist’s opinion, though the way they interacted seemed to invalidate his thoughts. Armin had proven to make great company even when he wasn’t at his best, and he had shown he cared. Having Connie and Sasha had been enough for him, so he never really considered expanding his group of friends in any way.

“Would it be–“ Armin gasped for air, noticing he’d started speaking not to himself but aloud. “Would it be alright if I stayed with you? If you’d like, surely.”

“Do you have issues with walking?” Jean asked, eyeing his tiny self from head to foot.

“I am not athletic as you can see, but I do appreciate walking around. I’ve already read a lot of books, and it would be nice to spend some time-“

“How many?” Jean jumped, preparing his bag and mail on the bike’s basket. “Shit, sorry I interrupted. Some time outside, you say?”

“Some time... yeah, fresh air always helps,” Armin giggled while he responded, taking the rest of the basket’s mail in his hands. “I read tons. Wait. Bills? Do they still send these?”

“Well, bud, some people need tangible reminders,” Jean laughed, taking duplicate versions of the bills he’d left before at the first house of his long route. “Oh, so you get any type of mailing online, don’t you? That’s why I’ve only thrown a few packages and nothing more!”

“You gotta help as much as you can,” Armin shrugged, tying his hair in a small ponytail. Taking the sunscreen bottle from Jean’s bag, he opened the cap and watched the mailman zigzag on the empty street, carefully sliding all kinds of envelopes inside his neighbors’ mailboxes. Turning around, Jean stopped near a bush and gestured for him to follow closely. “Do you always zigzag? This isn’t so practical, you know?”

“Probably. Sadly, I didn’t know you’d come with. Don’t worry so much, though. I’ve been doing the same thing for six months, so I’m accustomed to it.”

“What happened to Mr. Ackerman?”

“He’s my boss now,” Jean looked around in case anyone was watching and fixed his uniform. “Come on, let’s go. I got the creeps from remembering him.”

Jean and Armin walked on. Taking it as a chance to get to know each other more, they continued the conversation they’d put on hold the night before. Sometimes, they would turn around to sneak a peek at the other, appreciating the peace they irradiated. Throughout the day’s journey, Jean asked Armin several times if he needed to stop and go back home, always receiving a “no” for an answer and one of the blonde boy’s kind smiles. When it was their turn to deliver some legal documents at a shop, Armin bought some water for the two of them before they continued, having Jean’s flushed cheeks as a glimpse of a response whenever he stared up at him. “I owe you one,” Jean had said a while later, yet Armin did not seem to mind. From beginning to end, he hadn’t received any mean looks or strange mannerisms from Armin’s side, which he found shocking ever since they met. People tended to regard him as disagreeable as soon as they met him. He noticed Armin just looked at him differently.


	7. it's time that you won

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of help puts Armin in an uncomfortable situation.

Having spent the whole day with him, walking and then riding their bikes to the other side of town, he got back home when it was time for his people to go to bed. Carefully putting his bike between the other two at the back of their nearly empty garage, he made sure to lock it into its place before getting inside the house. Opening the main door quietly, his keys making the most minimal of sounds, he tried his best not to step into their living room loudly. Although he was still young, he had never felt the thrill of getting home late without any excuses in mind. Trying his best not to break the silence, he walked over the first couple of steps towards the second floor. Suddenly, the set of lights turning on in front of his face on the second floor glued him to the wooden stairs.

“Oh, Armin, it’s you,” a soft voice said groaning, sounding like a strange mumble, “How come you’re here so late? We were worried.”

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t bring my phone with me!” Armin replied in a whisper, trying not to wake Mikasa up. “Did you have a good day?”

“No small talk. Just come,” Eren said sighing loudly, scratching his head and letting his hand fall on his eyes, “Mikasa and I were worried sick! You will not wake her up. We were kinda waiting for a miracle or a police phone call.”

Trembling then, Armin quickly ran upstairs and towards Eren. Feeling his chest tighten at the thought of Mikasa revealing his secret, he avoided staring at her when he felt her steps getting closer to them. Walking towards his room, pushing the door open lightly, he heard both of his siblings coming his way. Armin decided to sit on his bed, cross-legged and quiet while he heard the switch being turned on by slender fingers. His room lit up, making his shadow grow bigger than the one his eyes had been focused on. He waited, imagining Eren’s loud cries and damning words while Mikasa’s eyes peered into his. It would be the least they could do considering the context of Jean and Armin getting along.

“Are you alright? You’re all soaked.” He heard Eren say as he crossed the room to sit by him. Feeling his brother’s strong arms squeezing him, Armin let his head fall down with watery eyes.

“I am, Eren, I am,” Armin whispered as a response, hugging him back and unconsciously letting his stiff shoulders relax at the touch. “I wish I had carried my phone around. I was about to text you a couple of hours ago, but then I realized it wasn’t anywhere near me.”

“Armin, you never come home this late,” Mikasa whispered, standing still by the doorframe. Her black orbs looked already dark enough for Armin to know it was a second warning. The last few days, things between them had been far from good. They were used to sticking together against all odds, but this novel factor in Armin’s life had changed things radically. Armin knew Mikasa was in a difficult position since he had been adopted by Mrs. Yeager years after she had come into Eren’s life, which meant she stood on his side irrevocably, one way or the other.

“I promise it won’t happen again,” Armin replied after looking back for longer than he should have. Embedded in the words he pronounced, he found a dual promise he could only keep in the sense of time management. As for Jean, he thought it would already be hard to keep his distance. His life had been a constant fight of letting go and stabilizing himself fruitlessly, and Jean’s existence had only put him at ease about it. Being reminded of Eren’s younger days, he recalled him being high as a kite, yet rejoicing the instances he had to reconnect with his spirituality by means of drug abuse. Armin, however, was well aware that Jean had shortly proven to be a much more positive influence in his life than the substances Eren once used to consume.

“That’s alright,” Eren called, sensing the tension between them. “No time for fighting. You two have had enough of it. Mikasa, stop with the overprotection. He’s old enough to do whatever he wants.”

Having Eren as mediator was no less surprising to Mikasa, Armin could notice as he straightened his back and untied his shoelaces as quietly as possible. Taking his sneakers and socks off, he stared at the alarm clock on his nightstand. Being almost 11pm, he scolded himself for pushing his boundaries way too far.

“Come on, Eren,” Mikasa responded while watching the endearing scene of two brothers who loved each other as dearly as she did them. “Let’s go to bed. Armin needs his privacy back, I guess. We all have a long day ahead of ourselves tomorrow.”

She waved at Armin curtly, yet he noticed Mikasa did not seem as pissed off as she had looked the day of his first official meeting with Jean. Patting his shoulder lightly, Eren got up from the bed and made his way towards his own room, closing the door behind him. Although Eren could be impulsive and immature most of the time, he was really perceptive of others’ emotions and preferences. He always made sure to give Armin plenty of space and just let him be, which was something he always felt grateful about.

Searching in his pockets, Armin found the piece of paper he had taken from the post office while helping Jean arrange his letter’s delivery with the postman in charge. Unfolding it twice, a blurry phone number appeared written in pencil, Armin’s own handwriting flowing all over the memo. Originally intending to write the postman’s number to call him and make sure his letter arrived in good conditions, his thoughts drifted away as Jean opened his mouth to offer the old man his own number. His companion had seemed very professional about his job, therefore not letting Armin take over and embracing the letter’s delivery as a responsibility of his own. While he dictated each number, Armin took his chance to write them as a bit of information they should have already shared between each other. Right then, in his room, he put on comfier clothes, his eyes never leaving the piece of paper laying on his nightstand. Once he was done changing into a make-do pajama, he rushed over to his phone and unlocked the screen as calmly as he could. When he checked the phone number and entered it in his contacts, his heart beat faster at the notion that he would be closer to Jean than what he had been. As he opened the messaging app to drop him a message, he hesitated and left his phone facing down. Armin perfectly knew that following his heart would lead to the breaking of not only his own but Jean’s as well, but he did not know about the other man’s psychology to the point of being able to predict his every feeling and thought. Taking his phone in his hands once more, Armin sent Jean a short yet tell-tale message.

 _Tell me you are already home. I hope you are not still working_.

Armin felt selfish and dirty. Usually, he was not one to go against the current, but this time he felt Jean was worth deviating from his communitarian soul. Still watching his text on the screen, having no hopes of getting a response, Armin thought he was doing things right regardless of how painful they could potentially turn out to be. They were just getting to know each other, and Armin was not against the idea of telling Jean the truth. In the end, he had nothing to do with any wrongdoings. He just was someone who happened to be related to the only bad thing between them. Convincing himself that everything would be alright, he breathed in and out deeply, imperceptibly silent in the middle of his tiny place.

His phone buzzed next to him while he faced the ceiling. He read the reply over three times, engraving every word into his mind.

_Hi. This is psycho of you... but ok._

_Why didn’t you share it with me before? We could’ve had this conversation long ago!_

_oof i thought you were fine with the way we were i thought you weren’t interested_

A mixture of bliss and nervousness appeared in Armin’s stomach, which he would have attributed to the usual love butterflies everyone talked about if it had not been for what Jean implied. He sat back against the wall, thinking of the proper way of answering. Taking too long, he realized he didn’t need a mask when they already started getting to know one another. Before replying, Armin laughed at the sudden changes in capitalization and punctuation.

_You never asked!_

Sitting still, keeping his hands laced on top of his chest, Armin smiled in the dark of night. While he waited for Jean’s answer, eyeing the screen patiently, he realized his contact picture was then available for him to see. Opening it to see it more clearly, he spotted a younger Jean with his guitar in hand, an annoyed expression on his face as he looked at a tall boy wearing a friendly look and a big, kind smile. They looked like they were sitting together on a bench, the background looking similar to that of his neighborhood’s park. They looked about the same age in that picture, so Armin could imagine it was Marco and him some years ago. In the middle of his pictorial analysis, the blonde boy felt the beginning of a persistent buzz coming from the phone, Jean’s contact photo and name appearing all over the screen. Armin cleared his throat before answering, containing himself from beaming at the inanimate object.

“Just checking. You never know if it’s a creeper or something.” He heard Jean’s mellow voice over the line and paid attention to the tint of exhaustion in it. He really wished for Jean to have gotten home long ago.

“Hi, Jean,” Armin spoke, lowering his voice volume before saying his name. Looking towards the door, Armin could feel like those kids dating bad guys for the first time in his life. “Tell me you are not walking home.”

“Who do you think I am? A workaholic?” Jean asked, apparently sounding offended. To Armin, he had sounded a bit exasperated, yet all that got lost in the tenderness of his tone.

“I wouldn’t have your number if you weren’t.”

“Hah, smart ass. But seriously, I am home. I just feel fucked up on the legs.” Feeling Jean grow much more comfortable in conversations with Armin made him feel warm inside. Listening to his loud breathing, Armin put his head down on a pillow, his phone balancing on his right ear. “I had never moved that much before today.”

“You really shouldn’t have gone to the trouble of passing my letter on to the other post office,” Armin quickly commented in a scolding tone, groaning quietly. Jean’s laugh sounded like music to his ear when he finished his complaint.

“I live by my word, _monsieur_ ,” Jean replied, something similar to a bed cracking in the background. “That’s pretty much it. Why are you still up, though?”

“I would be sleeping, but you decided to call me,” Armin said, giggling to himself. “Now, here I am, whispering like a ghost.”

“Why are you talking like that? I’m kinda covering myself out of fear, y’know?”

“Sorry, can’t let the others know I’m having a conversation so late at night,” Armin stated matter-of-factly although the glee embedded in his voice could not be suppressed. “So, what are you up to for tomorrow?”

“Letters, packages, thug life right there,” Jean answered. Armin wondered how it was possible for Jean to be in a good mood every time they interacted. Even after his meltdown, Jean got to be his best self around him, staying kind and extremely delightful to be around. “Apart from work, there won’t be much to do. I’ll just come home and, well, sit down.”

“Play some music?”

“Yeah, probably.” He could perfectly feel Jean shrugging through the phone, staring down at his feet. With that picture in mind, Armin remembered Jean’s low singing from the night they had met. Armin constantly found himself thinking of that night, of sitting outside his house to contemplate the glimpse at a fully-starred sky and finding the other man by mere curiosity. He could have let him go unnoticed, enjoying his singing from behind the fenced wall, yet he felt incredibly happy when he realized he had not done so.

“Hey Armin, you alright? Fall asleep yet?”

“Sorry, my thoughts are stronger than my attention span,” Armin rushed to reply, scared of ruining their conversation because of carelessly pondering about his feelings.

“What’s so interesting to replace me by your thoughts? Having a hard time already?”

“I am so happy I met you, Jean,” Armin said quietly, covering his head with the bed covers just to make sure no one else heard him speak. He would tell Jean about what he felt regardless of how scared he felt about their... friendship? Acquaintanceship?

Silence went over the other side of the line. Armin quickly checked if Jean had hung up on him after such declaration, but he seemed to still be there. Waiting silently for Jean to talk back, he heard the same loud breathing from the start of their conversation. Armin smiled, imagining that this time it was not caused by exhaustion.

“You are really sweet at night, did you know that?” Jean replied after he worked on his breathing. Armin, listening carefully, did not make a sound to stop Jean from talking. “I know we- uh- we don’t know each other that much yet, but I would uh- love to continue hanging out. I mean, it’s alright if you don’t want to but- yeah. Sometimes, I can’t believe how my brother blesses me with the best of people. I can’t find any other explanation to this.”

“Are you up for an after-work visit, then?” Armin asked, feeling his chest constricting his organs and leaving a tiny space inside of him. “I couldn’t prepare you anything for lunch, and I’ve got to run some errands at uni tomorrow. What time do you usually finish work?”

“Around six,” Jean answered after a content sigh. “I know this great pizza place nearby. Would you like to go there?”

“How about we get some tea and walk around?”

“Sounds fine by me. Should I bring anything?”

“Bring a jacket with you in case we take some time,” Armin suggested, the corners of his mouth lifting immediately. “We live near each other, so I don’t think there’s anything else we’d need.”

“Got it. If you have issues coming, just drop me a text. I’ll understand.”

“I’ll be there, silly,” Armin tried his best not to speak louder than his whispers, yet a wave of excitement invaded him. He covered his mouth with his hand to avoid being noisy. “I’ve got to go now. Please, have some rest. You need it.”

“Armin?”

“Yes?”

“Thanks for today,” Jean spoke clearly on the other side, his every word melting Armin to a puddle. “Thanks for tomorrow. Thanks for... yeah, thanks.”

Having a million possibilities to reply, Armin decided it best to hang up after bidding Jean goodbye. After locking his phone screen, he let it fall on the nightstand before he snuggled against the bed sheets. Putting both hands on top of his heart, he let a smile play on his lips before drifting off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I could picture my boys in that conversation and I sorta lost it. If you're wondering what will happen or if you have any theories about why Mikasa seems so tense about Jean and Armin, let me know your thoughts!


	8. all i know is i can't hide it - all i know is i can't fight it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean sees the light of day, while Armin feels himself being illuminated by the light at the end of the tunnel.

All day long, Armin had looked forward to meeting Jean. He could feel his impatience unleashing as time passed by slowly. While standing in a line to check college payment procedures, he had taken his phone out of his sweater pockets to text him about anything and everything. From the moment he woke up, he had in mind that they would see each other again. Despite having seen him the day before, the new meeting they had so spontaneously arranged felt different, more centered on them than on Jean’s field work doing. Noticing it was already ten in the morning, he closed the chat he shared with the musician and stepped forward after realizing the queue had been cut by his own doing. Considering that Jean would probably be working hard to start his deliveries as soon as possible, he discarded from his mind any ideas about getting a reply. Still standing in the line, although he often grateful for the economic help he received in relation to his studies, Armin internally cursed being forced to go to his university just to fill some scholarship paperwork. Having to wait for fifteen other people ahead of him, he noticed his phone vibrate and tightened the grip around his phone, checking the caller ID before answering as neutrally as he could.

“Hello, Mikasa.”

“Armin, how is your paperwork going?” He heard her say, though he immediately spotted entirely different communicative intentions in her voice.

“It’s slow, but I hope to get it done quickly. You know how tedious it can get. I’m glad I came earlier today, or I would have to wait for sixty other people before my turn.”

“Will you have some time around lunch?” Mikasa asked, apparently not paying much attention to the details he provided. “I’ve just seen Jean around – delivery for me. Were you with him yesterday by any chance?”

“As soon as I get this done, I will try to contact you,” Armin replied, his stomach twisting at the mention of Jean’s name. “I am not sure if I will be able to see you until past nine, though.”

“Eren’s already gone for band practice. Would you mind talking about all this over here?” When he heard Mikasa avoid the fact that their disagreement had a name and surname, Armin frowned forcefully, feeling his brow hurt from the pressure put into knitting his eyebrows together.

“Is this still about Jean? Mikasa, we’ve-“

“Armin,” Mikasa interrupted him with a much more serious tone of voice, which she only used to get her point across without much intervention from the other parts involved. “Last night, you looked different. Today, he looks different. Did you go forward with it?”

“What do you mean? We are just friends.”

“Jean came over not only to deliver my book package and ask about our info. He repeatedly looked past my shoulder to see if you turned out to be with me,” Mikasa described, stressing her final words to make Armin understand. “When he realized you weren’t here, he told me to let you know he said ‘hi’. Do I need to make myself clearer than this?”

“Mikasa, we’ve already gone over this.”

“It would be so painful for him to know you and Eren are related. Have you tried talking to him about it?” Mikasa asked, her voice becoming lighter with each syllable that passed. “I think he’s already in too deep for you to keep lying to his face.”

“I promise you I haven’t lied,” Armin whispered, tinges of hurt perceptible from his voice tone. “I just haven’t had the chance to speak to him about it. We’ve literally met five times or so.”

“Don’t start a fire without an extinguisher nearby,” Mikasa finally said before wishing him luck with the process. Tapping on his screen, Armin sighed, suddenly feeling at loss. On the inside, he knew Mikasa was entirely right about her spot-on comments. He could not deny she spoke the truth and nothing else, yet Jean and he had already gotten too involved in each other’s worlds to stop it then. Opening Jean’s contact photo one more time, he stared at the dark-haired boy with the nice smile. If only he were alive, none of the troubles he had already been avoiding would exist, and no barriers would be keeping him from being bolder about his and Jean’s proximity.

* * *

_hey armin, sorry about not answering wow did you survive the long line? I hope youre alright. i know its been a couple hours since you tried to talk. i was wondering if you had any issues meeting today? which is fine you know you have things to do. god i missed your lovely food at lunch, i could only buy a shitty sandwich and drink my mom’s cold water. im sorry there isnt much to tell you, this job is so chill i could lit fall asleep on my bike anytime well g2g now i need to hurry up or else i’ll see you when night falls_

_Hi, Jean. There are two more people left before my turn. About the meeting, I wouldn’t cancel it for the world. I already miss you too much. Will you need me to go there a bit later? Maybe, you won’t be done by six and will need more time. Please, tell me how it goes. I really want to see you soon. I swear there won’t be a need for self-service food next week._

_jesus christ who knew you were equally cute at daytime?? what did i do to deserve this?_

_What? Who?_

_us. if theres an us......... shit now i sound like an impending bf or sth please stop me. i dont mean to make you uncomfortable but yeah_

_Will you need me to be there later than originally arranged?_

_no, sir 6 is good enough for me to see you again_

_Jean_

_ye_

_I’ll see you at six then. Don’t leave me hanging on._

* * *

If anyone had told Armin about how to meet with someone he liked, they would have definitely not recommended the risky step he took when both met at 5.56pm. As he watched Jean run down the stairs before stepping on the sidewalk, Armin felt the impulse to beam back at him. Once the postman approached his personal space, he decided to give up on the usual decor of first dates. Ruffling Jean’s hair, he greeted him with one of his brightest smiles. Standing still, almost as if to store the first seconds in his memory, Armin found it increasingly difficult to take his eyes away from him.

“So, tea it is?” Jean interrupted his train of thought, taking Armin by the arm and turning him around staring northwards. “As much as I love my workplace, I wouldn’t stand here with you forever.”

“Sure, let’s go for tea,” Armin giggled and started walking in front of his interlocutor, taking slow steps towards the closest coffee shop in that side of town. “My sister saw you today.”

“Is she the same one you fought with?” Jean asked with an intriguing look. “She looked nice.”

“She is nice,” Armin amended his previous criticism of her during one of their meetings. “Did she say anything?”

“No, I just told her to say hello if you came back any time after my visit,” Jean was fast to continue with his story, noticing that Armin probably already knew about their encounter. “She just gave me her personal information to file it in as part of the delivery. Nothing much – It’s not like she was forced to say something anyway.”

Walking on, side by side, Armin felt them fall silent in the noisy and busy evening. People passed by them, phones in hand, probably calling their families home. Most wore the same office uniforms, making Jean’s mint green t-shirt stand out in the crowd. Really thinking about it, Armin realized he had not taken the time to admire the other man’s looks before that day. Most of their other meetings, Armin had not had the chance due to the lack of bright lights at night-time. True to himself, he also admitted that he had not taken the time to admire anything but Jean’s face. He thought it almost impossible to focus his eyes on anything else, but right then, as the sun set behind the mountains, he noticed how unrealistically beautiful Jean was in the sunlight. Armin stopped in the corner of the post office’s street just to take a look breathlessly. “You tired?” Jean turned around to ask as Armin took in the sight before him. He never had once admired any other person on the street like that, and he suddenly understood the feelings of people observing others with a blush on their faces. Looking at the color palette of Jean’s simple outfit choice, he felt his cheeks get warmer as the strong temptation of a smile invaded him. It was almost unbearable when Jean walked closer and put his hand on his left cheek, seemingly aware of whatever Armin was experiencing at the moment. It did not surprise the blonde one bit, considering the age gap between them; he was sure Jean could’ve felt this way more than once during the six years he had outlived young Armin.

“I know.” He heard Jean speak, sliding his right hand down to grab his, lacing their fingers together. His voice sounded like he tried to keep it steady, yet he could not get hold of his own emotions while he stroke Armin’s wrists with his calloused fingers. “I know we can’t be friends. I like you. I like you enough to skip that part.”

Feeling the type of mist on his eyes that was hard to get rid of, Armin looked down at their hands. Still having a way out, he could be mean and talk about how impossible their relationship was. He could call him a pervert for imagining such things with someone as young as him. He could tell him the truth. As his brain processed Jean’s confession, tears running down his face painfully slowly before touching his dry lips. Right there and then, staring into Jean’s eyes as the taller man had bent forward to make Armin look at him, his frustration felt endless, making him drown in a pond of uncertainty and hurt. Internally, he cursed Eren for having ruined things for many years to come.

That was the only thing he knew for certain. As though signing a contract in hell, despite being doubtful, Armin opened his mouth to say in a sob, “I like you, too. I like you so much.”

Untying their hands, he felt Jean’s long arm circle his waist and drag him closer. In his eyes, he could see how genuinely worried the older man felt about him. His chest jumped over Jean’s, feeling the musician’s heart thrumming hard enough for him to feel it over all those layers of clothing. Armin pressed his forehead against his collarbone and let out the air he had been holding. On top of his head, he felt Jean’s head resting, the start of a smile forming on his lips, which hurt him all the more. Armin knew he had to make a choice; he knew it depended on him for everything to work out. It just wasn’t the right time, he thought.

“Hey, bud,” Jean whispered, and Armin felt lightning going through his veins as the other man’s breath moved his hair. Giving a few steps back, the college student stared at Jean’s face, taking in every single detail while he still felt he could. “It’s alright if you want to talk this through some other time.”

Armin’s issues, though, went beyond defining what he wanted them to be. With his mind blank as paper, he took some distance from his interlocutor’s welcoming arms. Feeling the cold evening breeze hit his face and mess with his hair, he took deep breaths and tried to relax. Staring up at Jean one more time, he took his hand and set all his worries aside. He nodded with a smile that reached his eyes, making it impossible for them to go back to questioning what they had.

“Can we just... be?” Armin asked with a small voice, walking next to Jean again. “Can we just enjoy each other’s presence and talk?”

“Talk?”

“Talk!” He exclaimed, taking Jean’s left pinky into his hand. “Imagine how many things we don’t know about each other.”

“I don’t think that could easily change-“

“I’m sure you’ll end up surprised by the end of this meeting,” Armin laughed softly, avoiding the oncoming storm that chased after them.

“Date, you mean?”

“It is, in fact, a type of meeting,” Armin shrugged his shoulders, giving Jean a lopsided smile that hid everything else effectively.

Arriving at the coffee shop, Jean opened the door and extended his hand for him to carry on. Standing in the line to make their orders, he took his time to observe Jean’s profile and adjusted his hearing to the sound of Jean’s voice in an entirely different situation from the ones they had been in before. Every smile he got, he stored in his mind and responded similarly. As they talked about random facts about one another, Armin noticed how static Jean remained around him, while all he did was move his hands to express himself more clearly. Taking one of Jean’s hands in his, Armin stared up to check if it was a good thing to do. When he saw the other look down, probably too shy to look back, Armin laced their fingers together the same way Jean had done before his chaotic thoughts invaded him a while back. Stroking the back of his hand, Armin lost himself in the texture and warmth of it, paying little to no attention to the pair of hazel eyes which had fallen back on him.

“Do you really like me?” Armin found himself saying, trying to suppress his fearful thoughts. While Jean passed him a spoon and a couple of cookies, he saw his hand stop midway. Eyeing Armin from the other side of the table, suddenly looking uncomfortable because of the short distance between them, he saw Jean grab his long, black coat and stand up without a comment. Armin opened his eyes like plates, waiting for an answer as he watched his taller companion change places to the chair next to him.

“Thought I was leaving?” Jean grinned at him in return, lifting the seat to get even closer to Armin’s side.

“Don’t go scaring me like that.”

“Look, I know I’m shitty, but I wouldn’t go that far,” Jean said, taking Armin’s chin into his left-hand fingers and forcing him to look back at him and never leave his chocolate-y eyes. “I already have a guitar named like an alternative version of me and a crippling depression. I am the one who’s wondering why on Earth you’d like me.”

“Alternative version?”

“It’s called Jam... like, you know,” Jean paused, cringing as he waited for Armin to realize on his own. The youngest of the two tried his best to decode the secret message to no avail, letting Jean know he gave up on thinking by pouting exaggeratedly.

“Sorry, no clue.”

“My name’s Jean. It’s a guitar. It’s good for jamming-”

“God, I’m so stupid,” Armin laughed, trying his best not to scare Jean off. Of all things, he did not intend to sound like an asshole when Jean was just revealing something private about himself. “Did you really give it an alternative version of your name?”

“Marco did,” Jean smiled at him, much more happily in comparison to the evening Armin spent next to him, trying to make it better. “He used to tell all these boring jokes.”

Armin would have asked Jean to continue, he really would. Something inside of him just did not let him ask for more details, in fear of getting to know a wonderful person from the words and memories coming out of Jean’s mouth – in fear of taking more pity on himself for becoming a liar, a spy, and the bomb about to explode.

“Jean,” Armin whispered after silence had fallen once again upon them. Taking the musician’s hands into his, he stared back into his eyes and spoke as calmly as he could. “I just like you. Is it- Is it alright to like you?”

“Nothing, I assure you,” Jean said enthusiastically, squeezing Armin’s hands with his as he gave him a bright smile despite his tired eyes. “ _Nothing_ could be more alright than this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fall will hurt. Definitely.


	9. if tomorrow was not guaranteed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean accepts a challenge and apologizes.

“What am I supposed to say?”

“What you just told me,” Armin said, stifling a giggle to help him get out of that hole he learned he’d dug himself. “Come on, you just told me what you did. You-“ he stopped himself, laughing breathlessly. “You said you like me! This can’t beat that.”

He looked at Jean, who seemed slightly frustrated from being pushed to behave like a socially acceptable for the first time in his life. Hoping for him not to get too worked up over an apology, Armin waited beside him at the bus stop. Looking at the sky above their tiny heads, Armin sighed and sat a bit closer to his companion, waiting for a phone to appear in the scene. For some reason, he always ended up giving advice to people and supporting them all the way. This time was not any different, considering Jean had issues to deal with, yet he’d been avoiding them entirely.

“You watch too much Netflix,” Jean grumbled, taking his phone into his hands with a crooked smile. Armin couldn’t help the pair of shiny blue eyes staring back at Jean with something that looked like... disappointment?

“So it wasn’t hard?” he asked quickly, grabbing his knees with both hands tensely. “Like, at all?”

“Sugar, things feel different as you grow old,” Jean replied matter-of-factly while Armin felt blood creep up to his cheeks at the sound of a potential pet name. “Sorry. I’m not your _noblesse oblige_ type of guy.”

“That just makes me wonder how many times you’ve said the same words to different people, Casanova,” Armin whispered back, pinching Jean’s nose lightly. Making himself not be the only one to blush in there, he felt victorious enough to continue working on Jean’s apologies. “Never mind. Please, call him. Well, them. Please.”

“You’re the first one I’ve ever confessed to, I swear,” Jean rushed to add desperately, taking Armin’s hand while he retrieved it from his face. Watching him, Armin noticed he had seen the disbelieving look in his eyes and rocked in his seat exasperatedly.

“In twenty-seven years? That’s bull,” Armin replied, containing his laughter. Seeing Jean was on the verge of spontaneous combustion, he intended to let it go. After telling him it was not hard for him to confess, he felt at ease with Jean’s honesty levels. Not that he should’ve cared much anyway, considering he was the one at fault between them.

“You know what? Guess I’ll need proof, so I’ll do it.”

As Armin got closer to Jean, he saw his eyebrows furrow while he searched for a name in the contact list. Opening Connie’s contact, he checked the caller options and pressed a green icon. Shaking Jean’s knees, Armin made him look at him to prove that he was sure of doing it. In return, he got a nod and a determined look for an answer.

“Hey, if it’s about the elections, don’t eve-“

“Wait, so you don’t have me in your contacts anymore?” Jean yelled at the phone, and somewhere in Armin’s brain, a small part of him saved the image of Jean’s indignation in his memory.

“Jean? That you?” Now in loudspeakers, after Jean had turned it on with a dumbfounded look directed at Armin, they sat in silence figuring out what else to do. Deleting contacts was way too much. “Sash’! Jean wants to talk. Can you believe that?”

Covering his mouth with both hands, trying his best not to laugh at Jean’s reaction, Armin decided there were a million reasons why he would not let them go to waste. Screw Eren, he thought to himself. Sitting more comfortably, still looking at the phone, he waited for Jean to hang up any second. Fortunately, his guts were stronger than his pride.

“You bast-“ Jean started off, yet he interrupted himself in sight of Armin’s company. Seeing him stay quiet, Armin motioned for him to continue speaking, mouthing words to calm him down and pretend he wasn’t present. As his voice broke, Jean continued speaking. “Con, did you seriously delete my contact?”

Hearing a loud smack through the phone, Armin stuck to Jean attentively. Although the musician had taken the time to describe his friends thoroughly, he did not know how they could react. Wishing Jean the best, Armin grabbed his left hand and drew small circles on his palm. When both heard what seemed like Connie shushing Sasha, they looked at each other, puzzled.

“Connie, I’m sorry,” Jean said after a long pause. Soon, Armin felt his finger stop by the soft touch of Jean’s, registering it as a new way which Jean had found to deal with his anxiety. “I’m really sorry. I can explain.”

“Bro, you literally left before Sasha even arrived, didn’t say bye, didn’t say thanks, nothing,” Connie replied flatly, letting out a deep breath after listing Jean’s actions. “Look, I was crossed, but I’d imagined the worse. How did you not tell me whatever happened to you?”

“What do you mean?”

“You never answered my texts,” Connie continued as if to make some sense of it all. “I was pissed because you just went and assumed you could take the usual place, but then I just kinda let it go. I knew you’d realize it wasn’t the best thing to do.”

“Jean?” A woman’s voice, which Armin predicted was Sasha’s, sounded through the speakers. “Look, Connie planned all of this. You guys are equally dumb as fuck.”

“What do you mean he planned it?” Jean smiled for the first time, and Armin felt relieved at seeing something else in his eyes apart from pain and uncertainty.

“You know Connie’s a drama queen. He literally told me he’d delete your contact to make you fall down on your knees,” as a loud ‘hey’ could be heard in the background, Armin felt Jean’s grip weaken after Sasha’s explanation. “He was worried, but he’s not angry anymore. Connie, can you be like- you know, decent?”

“Jean, I’m sorry. I thought I wouldn’t remember it, but I know your number by heart,” Connie’s voice continued on the other side of the line after some screeching. It looked like Sasha had taken the phone away so Jean would stay calm. “You know I love you enough to memorize that shit.”

“Fuck you,” Jean said and laughed, staring at Armin with the fondest smile he’d seen on his face so far. Shaking his hand now, Armin smiled back and nodded approvingly. “Alright, OK, we good then?”

“Always been!” Sasha’s scream sounded in the background again, making Armin let out a quiet giggle. Covering his mouth again, he looked at Jean apologetically, waiting for some reprimand to come. Surprisingly, Jean shook his head happily at him and resumed the call.

“Guys, I need your help.”

“Tell us,” both answered simultaneously, though they did not sound relaxed about Jean’s intervention at all. “Do you need something?”

“No, guys, I’m OK. I just need you to say yes or no... for science.”

“Deal. Shoot, cowboy,” Sasha replied excitedly. In Armin’s ears, she sounded like an outstanding friend. Despite Jean’s deplorable state, he thanked life for making the man’s hurt decrease by the good company he got. Well. Almost all the company was good.

“Have I ever been in a relationship?” Jean said, biting back a smile as he winked at Armin.

Armin’s eyes going wide, he tugged at Jean’s arm and shook his head violently. He had not meant for him to go on extensive research as part of his apology. Getting a unison loud exhalation from the other side, the sound of both bodies getting closer to the phone could be heard in the middle of the night.

“Don’t tell us-“

“Have I ever been in a relationship?” Jean insisted, staring seriously at the phone screen once it vibrated in his hands. Lighting it up, a request for a video call appeared on it under Connie’s name.

“No, you haven’t,” Sasha sang before they hang up. Suddenly confused by their communication, Armin decided to let him go on with the video call. Before accepting, he saw Jean address him silently, his index finger positioned at the center of his lips.

“I mean, you’ve liked people before but-“

“Never a relationship,” Sasha interrupted, staring into their screen and getting closer to the front camera. “What are you doing at a bus stop after midnight?”

“I’m going home,” Jean replied with a huge smile on his lips. Armin thanked the heavens for making the older man decent enough to weigh their options and not show him to the rest of his world. After having spent the evening together, walking from here to there, he no longer felt in proper conditions to meet Jean’s friends. As his partner muted the microphone, he directed his eyes at Jean again. Then, he figured out exactly what Jean was planning on doing.

“Just look at me,” Armin pleaded, moving his hands to show he looked like a mess after a busy day. “Do you really want to do this?”

“They want to meet you like... right now, believe me.”

“How’s that possible?” Trying his best not to show up on the screen, through which Sasha and Connie’s expectant faces appeared, Armin demanded an explanation by shaking Jean’s free arm.

“Could I have this?” Jean whispered at him, that beautiful smile of his never leaving his face.

Letting his head cool down, Armin nodded as he stared back into Jean’s eyes. Scared as he was of exposing himself even more, he doubted his participation in the video call – not because he wouldn’t like it. He was just risking too much by showing himself to people who may or may not know his background story. However, the only brain cell he felt working at its fullest inside his brain rooted for him to start living with his head up high, so when he moved his head almost instinctively, he could only chew the insides of his cheeks in panic. He saw Jean turn around slightly and press his back against Armin’s right shoulder and chest, closing the space between them with the mild excuse that he hated how screens split people in half when they were sitting next to each other. The stars surely looked brighter that night.

“Jean, Jean,” Armin could see Connie’s eyebrows shoot up to the ceiling at the revelation of a new face in their lives. “Shit. You guys look so cute. Wait, isn’t that Gabriella?”

“Connie, don’t be an asshole,” Sasha stopped him from talking, her eyes boring holes on Connie’s skull.

“No, seriously,” Armin interceded softly, “I am that same person.”

“So he can actually sing?!” Connie yelled through the mic, caring little about the woman next to him as well as the boys on the other side of the line. “Jean, you won the lottery!”

“I still don’t understand the Gabriella thing. I’m lost.”

“How long?” Connie continued screaming, both of them seeming way too moved about Jean’s news in Armin’s eyes. “So it started then? Aw, man, you went all rom-con in two weeks.”

“No, Con,” Jean replied shortly, lacing his fingers with Armin’s subtly so that the screen wouldn’t display them holding hands. “We’d known each other from a while before.”

Armin tried his best not to jump out of sight, turning his face to look at Jean, embarrassed. Silently demanding an explanation, waiting for Jean to notice him staring, he prepared himself for the worse first impression ever. Directing his eyes from the phone to Armin’s face, he saw Jean smile at him knowingly.

“Armin right here sang some weird love song from the _High School Musical_ repertoire the second time I saw him,” Jean explained to Sasha as Armin gave it his all not to collapse. Hearing a loud cry from the other side, he focused his eyes on the screen again, seeing how both of Jean’s friends suddenly looked so accepting of such a memory.

“I LOVE HSM,” Sasha whispered, getting closer to the camera again, gluing her nose to the phone screen. “I already love you.”

As silence fell upon them, Sasha took a moment before shaking Connie from the shoulders excitedly. Her lover, not understanding much of her reaction himself, raised an eyebrow at him as Jean suddenly went from relaxed to close to pulling his hair out. Armin stared at him silently, as if waiting for Karma to amend the compromising situation Jean had put him into. Turning around to face him this time, their faces closer than before, Jean stumbled on his seat with eyes wide open. He mouthed a few words which Armin soon decoded as “don’t listen, she’s stupid”.

“Wait, so your name’s Armin?” Sasha asked intrigued, crossing her arms on top of her chest as though she had just solved a mystery.

Sitting comfortably that time, ignoring how close they were, Armin nodded and smiled his biggest smile at her. “Hi. Yes, Armin Arlert at your service.”

“So you _were_ someone!” Sasha spoke again, turning around to face Connie, the same grin still present on her face. “Connie, remember Jean pretending he didn’t get a signal? He accidentally said Armin’s name and-“

“Oh, no, stop,” Jean groaned, blushing furiously. “OK, I’m out.”

Hanging up on the strong laughter of Connie and Sasha on the other side, he locked his screen and put the phone inside his jacket’s breast pocket. Distancing himself from Armin, he looked at the floor.

“Did you really do that?”

“I knew I couldn’t tell her, or she’d follow us around that night,” Jean mumbled quietly, making Armin pay full attention to every word he said. “Not that I didn’t want to-“

“So you _do_ get worked up about liking me?!” Armin stood up from the long seat in delight. Taking one of Jean’s hands, he pulled for him to get up.

“Well, then I didn’t know I-“

“Oh my God, so you realized after that?” Armin couldn’t suppress his happiness. Not until the day before had he noticed Jean’s long stares and awkward behavior around him. Before, he had thought Jean was just this really detached person with a drive for working well who could never bring himself to be interested at all in someone like him.

“Hey, isn’t it time for you to go home?” Jean asked, patting his thighs to get rid of the seat’s dust. “It’s like 1am.”

Watching Jean walk in his house’s direction, Armin ran after him to pick up the pace. Keeping his distance after having been so close to each other, he let out a huff before beaming. Jean’s face looked redder under the yellow halo that street lights left around him. Not meaning to make him feel uncomfortable, they quietly crossed the main street together, taking the sidewalk to their right, on which Armin’s house stood. As they got closer, Armin looked around to see if someone was waiting on him. In that case, he would have to bid Jean farewell from a distance before coming home. Crossing his fingers, he checked every possible opening and, luckily, found the lights off and no one around.

“Were you expecting someone to come for you?” Jean asked him when they reached Armin’s house number. “It’s too late. I’m sorry if I took too much time.”

“I wasn’t,” Armin shook his head, standing awkwardly opposite him. “I knew you’d bring me home for sure.”

“It’s nothing,” Jean said, his eyes avoiding Armin’s stare as he motioned for him to open the main entrance.

“Will I see you around?”

“I’m always around,” Jean nodded, bending his arms to cross them behind his back. Armin, quickly grabbing his right softly, closed the space between them and kissed Jean’s cheek tenderly. Feeling the other stiffen under his touch, he took his chance on thanking him.

“I hope Sasha and Connie don’t have many complaints about me,” he whispered near Jean’s ear before moving towards the door. Keys in hand, Armin stepped on his front yard. Waiting by the door, he looked back at Jean, whose body still seemed frozen in surprise. As if summoned by Armin’s train of thought, Jean turned towards him and bowed his head.

“They won’t because I won’t.”

When Jean put his hand on top of his heart, suddenly disposing of all embarrassment and self-consciousness, Armin felt his own shatter in a million pieces only to find them scattered all across his body. Every piece of his heart, taking the shape of sharp knives, hurt him inside. After closing the door, he stood by the fence and could tell a fine amount of misery was about to invade him, entering through his bloodstream, breaking him down. Armin circled his arms around his torso, his hands hovering over both shoulders as he tried to think of a good way out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wish them the best, but I make them go through the worse.
> 
> I miss Jean's playing! I hope he comes back to the bar with Jam soon. :-)


	10. the kiss, the prince, the story for the kids?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some time has passed, and they meet again.

Time flies when you watch the world go by. Two weeks had passed, yet Armin had not meant to ghost Jean or anything closer to it. On the contrary, he would have liked to see him, and he would have liked to talk to him until the wee hours while watching the sun rise with bags under his eyes. He loved being close, and he liked how fantastic it felt to just talk and know Jean would be listening and would have something to say. When he heard Jean’s slow steps on his street’s concrete path, or else a lot of mail being thrown into his neighbor’s houses, he always ran towards the main door but could not get past it. His hands trembled, and a pit of darkness, discomfort, and uncertainty started to grow deeper and deeper with each thought that went through his head while taking the doorknob in his hand. He knew he was being far from fair by treating him that way, but Armin could not stop himself. Eren had asked him many times, lying down on their living room’s big sofa with both legs up, immobilized, whether he had amnesia, and Armin could not help but laugh it off, faking it. Armin had soon come up to realize that he was ghosting Jean and would have to continue doing so. As long as Eren was recovering at home with no one to look over him but Armin himself, he would not have the pleasure of keeping Jean company. Often feeling tired of it, he went for a walk in the evenings right after Mikasa’s arrival from the lab. Excusing himself with a bow, he would go out and follow Jean’s delivery route as if to have him close in any way. When he was done walking along the lonely, quiet streets, he made his way back, feeling much less exasperated than before leaving home.

He cursed the day Eren had gone to a basketball match because of a bet. Against Reiner and Bertholdt, he was no match. Then again, his impulsivity and strong drive to win had gotten him in trouble, and Armin was, once again, the one to pay for it. Both Mikasa and he had known Eren was the musical type, never the physical, being no surprise when they got the news that Eren had suffered an accident mid-game while giving a poor attempt at defying the laws of Physics. Reiner and Bertholdt had gone to the trouble of having Eren be seen by a doctor, so by the time Armin and Mikasa got to see him, they skipped to the scolding part. Laughing wholeheartedly, Eren got rid of any responsibilities about the issue. Again. After that event, Armin immediately restricted himself from contacting Jean often, during the first few days, switching his mind to tending to Eren’s needs. Although Jean often started their conversations, it was still difficult to him to restrain from answering him. Talking at night, one day Armin told Jean that his brother had suffered an accident and that his responses would be quite limited from then on. Not giving any names, he did his best to convince Jean of how bothered he felt by the situation, to which Jean replied understandingly. He had offered Armin some help with his brother if he ever needed it, and Armin many nights felt that he had to be more open about everything that was happening. Just this once, he wouldn’t have to pay for Eren, he repeated in his head while typing possible confessions to the only problem coming between them. After reading over his prototypes of confessed apologies, he got rid of them letter by letter. Armin felt like a coward after several attempts and limited himself to shorter and less frequent answers until he realized Jean would not start any conversations anymore nor call him in the middle of the night to have a chat. Although it was painful, an eighth part of his brain felt relieved about living in a lie – or that’s was what he had told himself.

Lately, whenever he was not helping Eren exist around the house, he spent his time in the dark. He lay down in bed, his entire body under the covers as he stared at his phone waiting for a message that would never come. Though he knew how unhealthy such an action was, it was the least he could afford to do considering how hidden he had kept them from his family. Every time he thought about them, he could not help but praise the Gods not to have Jean’s heart more broken than he thought it was. Overall, Jean had seemed like quite a nice guy about it all. Armin could tell he was not comfortable with the way things developed, yet he showed him how mature he was despite his looks. He never appeared in front of his house like those crazy idiots on those romantic 90’s movies, and he had not forced himself during Armin’s late-night walks. Jean was being Jean, and Armin really appreciated not being followed. From the bottom of his heart, he knew that as soon as he saw Jean near him, he would have the need to hold on to him. He wished it could happen again someday. He wished Jean could let it happen again someday.

“’Min!” The echo of Eren’s voice interrupted his train of thought, leaving him restless. Standing up from his bed, he ran downstairs as he heard Eren’s cries move farther from his usual place. Reaching the first floor, he was surprised to find him trying to walk like a wooden-legged toy, holding on to the walls of the hall. As his left leg crashed onto the big flowerpot by the entrance, he went for the doorknob without much thought. Opening his eyes widely, Armin rushed towards him, grabbing Eren by the hand resting on the wall. “I called you a thousand times.”

“Sorry I didn’t hear you before,” Armin replied, taking his other hand away from the doorknob. “Look, you can barely walk. Why did you even stand up?”

“The mail,” Eren mumbled as Armin turned him around and guided him to the closest armchair. Dropping him on the comfy seat, he looked at Eren questioningly.

“The mail? We never get mail.”

“Go before the mailman leaves!” Eren yelled, his eyes open like plates. One thing Armin knew Eren was scared of to death was Mikasa’s reaction to delayed deliveries for reasons that often involved them. She barely had time to be home to spend a whole Saturday running errands to get her things.

Walking out the door, Armin saw a pair of feet move from one side to the other from the opening in their fence. As he internally prepared himself for the worst-case scenario, he put the key in the lock and opened their front door. In the light of day, bright as ever, stood the familiar tall frame with a new mailbag hanging from his shoulders. The blonde boy decided to stand still while looking up at Jean. Opening their mouths at the same time, they each said something of their own.

“I’m sorry.”

“Delivery for Armin Arlert.”

Watching Jean’s smile fall, Armin regretted not joining the game he had intended to play. Taking a look at his mailbag, he realized this was the first house of the day to be visited by him, which probably meant Jean just wanted to get rid of this uncomfortable cliffhanger Armin had suddenly forced them into. Extending a shaky arm towards Armin, Jean held out a blue envelope with golden letters, meaning he was getting a reply from his grandfather. Making him feel all the more guilty and useless, he spoke up.

“I just want to make this clear. It is not my intention to play with your feelings. It never was,” Armin breathed out, looking up again into judgmental hazel eyes. “I don’t want to excuse myself either. I don’t want to offer lame excuses for an apology.”

“Armin,” Jean said in a whisper, keeping his eyes on their feet. “I know you’re busy. Just don’t leave me out.”

“I’m not – I didn’t – I’m sorry.”

“If you felt uncomfortable with my friends or with me, just tell me,” Jean continued, resting on his side by the metal fence. “If you don’t want this, let me know.”

The issue with them was not whether Armin wanted him. The issue was whether or not Jean would want him. “This?” Armin asked in a little voice, “ _This_? As in a thing?”

“Isn’t that what it is to you?” Jean grumbled bitterly, looking sideways.

“No,” Armin shook his head, throwing his letter to the porch of his house. Walking through, he reached Jean’s feet and stumbled towards him. Extending his arms and taking Jean’s head in both his hands, an incredulous look on the eyes of the other, Armin pressed both cheeks lightly. “No, no, no.”

“No what?” Jean mumbled with bright eyes, seemingly holding a smile from Armin when he saw the endearing look in the boy’s ocean eyes.

“Just… no,” Armin rebutted, grabbing Jean’s cheekbones a little too tightly, making the other wince with a smile. “I don’t want _this_. Gee, I’m so sorry, Jean. I want _you_.”

“You do?” The taller man opened his eyes, taken aback by Armin’s confession/apology. “God, Armin, you were clear you didn’t want us to take any steps further the last time we saw each other. I really thought you had regretted it – which, you know, is fine by me. I’d understand it anyway – I still don’t know why you like me in first place. Anyway, I know I must respect you before loving you.”

Hearing Jean ramble on and on about them made Armin feel more certain about his feelings than ever. Letting go of him, he giggled loudly and gave Jean a peck on the lips, staring back at him with flushed cheeks on. Rocking on his heels, Armin smiled up at Jean as he saw him cross his arms behind his back.

“I do! A lot!” Armin assured him, nodding his head slowly. “I – Jean, could you come by tonight?”

“Armin, your siblings will be here,” Jean commented, red on the cheeks and holding back his laughter, “You’re so bold to be so young.”

“What? No. No, that’s not what I meant. I just wanted to go on a walk with you.” Armin panicked, crossing his arms as to shelter himself from the embarrassing situation he had put himself in. “Not that I don’t want you to come in – I just –“

“It’s alright,” Jean interrupted, booping the blonde boy’s nose. “No need to get all flustered. See you when I come back from work.”


	11. over-the-ocean call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time for Armin to face his demons.

Picking up the letter from the porch after closing the metal door behind him, Armin pressed the envelope to this chest with the biggest smile he’d pull out in weeks. As he pushed the house’s entrance door, his feet met the soil of the _matico_ plant that was splayed all over the floor. After he put the letter in one of his pants’ back pockets, not really minding how he bent the missive carelessly, Armin kneeled to get the plant back up to being safe and surrounded by its precious loam. While he walked to the kitchen to get their cleaning supplies, he heard wolf-whistling and paid attention to the silence in their home. Stepping towards Eren, he stopped next to the armchair, eyeing him cautiously and emotionlessly. In return, he got a smirk and wiggling eyebrows from his brother as he elbowed him on the knees.

“So you’re into the mailman?”

“Eren, please,” Armin snorted, cursing himself for having sat Eren behind the front window. The last thing he needed was his brother’s interest in a romantic relationship that stood no chance because of him.

“Wait, you’re in _love_ with the mailman? Well, that’s what I heard.”

“Eren, I’m not sure I can talk about this right now,” Armin replied, hurriedly taking the broom and mop in his hands. “Just don’t go over it that much. It’s not worth distracting you.”

Turning his back to his brother, Armin rushed towards the hall and cleaned the mess Eren had made. Enjoying the silence of no TVs on and the lack of talking made Armin feel in a safe place again while he swept the floor carefully, doing his best not to move their plant any more than they already had. When he was ready, he headed towards the kitchen, ordered the cleaning supplies he had taken, and climbed up the stairs quickly, avoiding Eren’s stare or the heavy atmosphere surrounding them. He was sure his brother would not attempt at following him at the speed of turtles, so he chose the best place to be those last few weeks: his bedroom. He well knew that Eren’s question had not come up out of anything but sheer surprise. Before Jean, he had dated only one person in high school, and it only lasted for a few weeks because Armin had soon felt uncomfortable about it all. Considering the enormous amount of time that he devoted to his studies, to being perfect, to giving it his everything, he felt like a fool trying to have a random high-school relationship. He very well knew it would end anyway once college got in the way, and the future ahead of him must be brilliant. He had great expectations of what to do in the future; a boyfriend just was not part of the equation. He remembered calling it quits before getting to their monthversary; if he was honest, he’d never cared for the boy as much as he came to care for Jean in a matter of two meetings. Although he wasn’t sure if it was a byproduct of being on holidays, Armin could feel deep inside that the musician would not be a transitory presence in his life plans but rather a permanent one, or so he hoped.

Opening the beige curtains, he stood by the tall window to his right. Watching the world outside, the birds sing, the trees sway, something filled his head with hope; Jean would forgive him. He had nothing to fear. Hiding the secret from Jean any longer would only hurt both of them more, so he might as well admit it then. The worst thing to happen to them was extending Armin’s agony. Checking his phone, he realized it had already buzzed a couple times with messages from an expectant Eren, annoyed Mikasa, and tired Jean. Stepping back from the window, he lay on the bed one more time, looking at the clouds go by in the clear sky. He wondered how it would be to go back to his studies without letting Jean down. Nevertheless, he was sure Jean would understand; he always showed himself to be quite a mature man when it came to responsibilities. He could see that even in Jean’s darkest days, carrying wilted flowers to his friend’s grave as Armin and Mikasa watched from afar. They had always seen him weeping over Marco’s tomb desperately, sometimes out of anger, and Mikasa was often the one to hold Armin back from running over to give explanations, to apologize. After a couple years, there was no coincidence in their visits anymore as Mikasa had done some field work to keep Armin away from becoming too anxious. Seeing Jean around no more, they were able to sit in front of Marco’s grave at ease, say their prayers and apologies, and wish him well wherever he would be. Usually, while Mikasa prepared their things to leave, Armin would always touch the cold marble block with his right hand, staring at the small windmill his family had lain there in one of their first visits. Watching Mikasa stand up to take their leave, Armin whispered a soft “goodbye” in the grave’s direction and made sure to leave the place clean and in order.

Meeting Jean had been nothing but a coincidence, yet it was the perfect excuse for the Literature student to tell him what he had felt like saying whenever he had felt Mikasa’s tight grip on his wrist, holding him back. Of all the things Armin regretted doing, not formally approaching Jean for all the damage Eren had done to his family was top 5 on his list. Finding him at Connie’s bar so casually suddenly felt as rewarding as the night they first saw each other. Some years had passed since his last visit to Marco’s place, and Armin never had the chance to see the lonely man again. He remembered walking out of his garden to see him standing there, some of the streetlights shedding some light on a look that he found so different from the ones he’d seen before. Every time Marco’s brother -as he had liked to address him- showed up in front of the boy’s grave, he looked different from the crown of his head to his collarbones. Armin remembered a mass of greasy hair standing out from behind the colorful flowers, or the time Jean dyed his hair blue and Armin had mistaken him for some random punk trying to destroy Marco’s space. With the memory of teal locks of hair being moved by the autumn breeze, he greeted a totally renewed version of him, though there still was a constant: the suit. No matter how changed Jean’s looks were, he would always visit Marco with the same loose suit he used to wear. By the time they met, however, it seemed to fit so much better than it once had, making it difficult for Armin to realize who he was really talking to. Realizing he was no stranger, as Jean made his way home, he giggled nervously to himself and ran inside the garden, closing the door behind him loudly. Meeting Jean had been nothing short of an accident.

* * *

“Hey sweetheart,” Jean’s voice could be heard among the set of various sounds coming from the lively streets. 8pm was always a terrible time to come back from school or work because of how busy it got, all those tired people in their cars going home under the effects of a stressful day, week, or month. Despite the downsides of commuting and existing anywhere outside their neighborhood, Jean seemed to sound energetic and unaware of his surroundings. “I’m about ten minutes away from you. Meet me by the front door.”

“So you have date plans for me?” Something twisted in Armin’s stomach, yet for once he realized those weren’t butterflies; they were the very worms mercilessly eating his self-confidence away. Fortunately for Armin, Jean was straightforward about his intentions.

“’S not like I have much time to prepare something so elaborate, silly,” Jean laughed in response, clearing his throat by the end of it to dissimulate how mean he’d sounded. “How about a picnic at the park? I got some… fries from the market.”

“I’m allergic to potatoes and whichever way they’ve been prepared like,” Armin answered mischievously, containing his laughter as the other end of the line fell silent. Hearing Jean’s steps come to a stop and turn, he was fast to clarify the information. “I was kidding. God, please, don’t go for anything else. Just, please, come here soon.”

“You suck.”

“I’ll make it up to you, I swear,” Armin cooed, smiling to himself. “I’ll bring something to sit on.”

Hanging up on Jean, Armin prepared a pair of his thick, woolen Winter blankets and carried them downstairs in both his arms. Waving his hand at Eren, he realized the other just ignored him and replaced him, once again, by some crap TV show. Next to him stood Mikasa, who smiled at him from the corner of the room and walked in his direction. After explaining to her that he would be away and getting a disapproving look from her side, he fell silent and waited, the weight on his arms feeling heavier. Should he really be doing this?

“I’m telling him tonight,” Armin whispered nervously, watching Mikasa’s reaction from the corner of his eye.

“Armin, isn’t it too much load for such a confession?” She asked bluntly, eyeing the blankets. Nodding her head, she continued, “I’m just – really worried about you, Armin. I know how into him you are – have been for a while. Take care of yourself.”

“I will,” Armin said, smiling up at her. “I know, but I need to tell the truth. You and I know how much he needs to know.”

“Thanks, Armin,” she answered, patting Armin’s head lightly as she turned her back on him. “I’ll stay with Eren for a bit and then take care of the garden. Will you leave the door open for me, please?”

“No prob,” Armin said a bit louder as he stepped closer to the door, avoiding another horrible fall from the flowerpot’s side. “Should I leave the front door open, too?”

“Please, do,” Mikasa yelled, “I haven’t watered the trees in so long. Thanks, Armin!”

Walking out the house and towards the fence, he made sure to leave the door open, using the flowerpot as support. Stepping down the pair of stairs carefully, he felt the concrete turn into dry soil under his feet, the tall grass tickling his ankles as he went past it towards the fence. Balancing the blankets on one hand, he fished his keys inside his jacket’s pocket and opened the fence front door, waiting for Jean’s tall figure to approach him from the back of the street. Taking the blankets in both his arms again, he stood still and looked at both sides, his view being filled with houses similar to his and the blossoming trees standing by their home main entrance. Watching Jean run towards him from far away, he rushed to shake a finger as the sign for him to slow down. Then, Armin walked in the mailman’s direction, inhaling and exhaling deeply as though it were one of his hardest times – and, indeed, it was.

“Have a good day?”

“Well, as good as being locked up in my room can get,” Armin chuckled, elbowing Jean as he took the blankets from his arms. Staying close to each other, they walked towards the park located at the convergence of his street and the one which ran parallel to it, marking the union between the two conjoint roads. “How about you, Jean? Anything new?”

“Every day, something new happens somehow,” Jean commented, beaming down at him and making Armin regret having told Mikasa about coming up clean. “Today, though, I just had much less work to do. My bag was full, but most of the packages belonged to one house only, those rich bastards.”

“I missed you,” Armin declared against his will, as involuntarily as his beating heart. “I really am sorry for having been so stupid.”

“Hold on. It’s not stupidity –” Jean shook his head, whispering as they both stepped into the neighborhood’s park. Giving one of the blankets to Armin, he proceeded, “it’s insecurity.”

Both men laid their blankets on the grassy floor, Armin pressing his feet to two corners of his and Jean using his backpack to hold his own in place. Cross-legged, both of them sat down in front of the other and smiled as the musician got them both a packet of fries and a juice box. Apologizing, he said he still did not know which flavor Armin would like, so he went for apple as it was the most traditional one. "Literally no one dislikes apple juice," he stated to Armin as he took some fries from his own packet and devoured them. Simply staring in return, Armin took a fry in his hands and smiled to himself, feeling pleased to have Jean be so polite when most times he had looked entirely messy and out of place.

“So?”

“So?” Armin echoed, realizing he had lost himself in his thoughts. Watching Jean eat hungrily, he laughed loudly and got closer to him. “Sorry, I was thinking.”

“You seem to do that a lot,” Jean replied, mouth full of food. Getting a nod for a reply from Armin’s side, he continued speaking. “So, I meant, what did Grandpa say?”

Jumping in his place, Armin opened his eyes widely. Amused by the thought of not having read his reply, he covered his mouth in disbelief. He hummed to himself, patting his pants’ back pocket, and found the folded envelope a bit more wrinkled than how he’d received it. Looking up at Jean as if asking for permission, the college student held the letter in his hands as he tore the rim of the envelope apart. Getting a nod and wide-open eyes in return, he shrugged and opened the three folded pages he got from the container. This time, his grandfather had not written much – his handwriting all messy, the letters changing size and type. The illness had struck again, it seemed. Sitting silently in front of Jean, Armin displayed the pages before them and read the letter. After being asked by the other if he was entirely sure of sharing something so private with him, Armin gave him a thumbs up as the corner of his mouth lifted. The contents of the reply revolved around the last issue Armin had mentioned in his last letter, he realized. That fact also shed light on the aggravating state of his grandfather’s memory. It had been a couple years since the last time he had been able to properly address him with their family connection, now their link relying on their shared surnames. Whenever Armin used to write him letters years before, he would start with his typical “Dear grandpa,” however repetitive it might've felt. As time went by, and Alzheimer’s got the last of his old man, Armin was forced to call him as he would call any other stranger, using the bitter “Dear Mr. Arlert,” which he was now used to writing in every letter. The last time he wrote to his grandfather under his old greeting, he had received a call from the retirement home, one of the nurses sounding extremely alarmed by something so natural. It was her job, he told himself as he listened to the million explanations prior to the point of the call: he would have to be more careful with eliciting specific memories or stating their connection clearly. His grandpa had had a crisis in his room, and they had to give him sleeping pills to calm him down if only a bit. It was only natural, taking into account how peaceful of a day it had been to him to receive a lot of information that made no sense at all.

“God, Arlert, I thought you wouldn’t tell anyone,” Jean wowed, getting a bit closer and making his legs touch the other’s knees. “But it’s alright. Maybe, you’re scared because I’m so open.”

“Wait a sec, Harry. How do you know?” Armin asked, intrigued by Jean’s interpretation of things.

“I guess it’s simple. Look, he repeats many times how much you shouldn’t be scared of loving anyone,” Jean mumbled as he scrutinized the short text for any evidence in the letters before him, lightly pressing his index finger to the crumbled paper beneath it. “Or maybe it’s just me not really reading between the lines… like always, hah.”

“Jean, I’m not scared of love,” Armin stated seriously, way too much, he noticed once he saw Jean’s attentive eyes posed on his. “I’m scared of – Jean.”

“What?” He got as an instant reply as Jean took the apple juice box in his hands and started drinking up nervously.

“Jean, I – I gotta stay true to my heart,” Armin murmured after a while, trying to gain strength from the smallest things to keep his promise. “To you.”

“Tell me, love,” Jean answered, chewing on the plastic straw silently. Hearing the pet name, Armin felt his insides churn with uncertainty. “Just don’t wear the poker face. You’re scaring the shit out of me.”

“Jean,” Armin said after repeating, sighing, screaming his name in his head a million times. “Oh, God, I don’t know where to start. Just – wait, don’t make that noise while drinking the juice. OK, thanks. Jean, I’m so sorry.”

“Come on, is this a holiday fling to you?” Jean sounded hurt as he spoke to Armin, grabbing the juice box with shaky fingers.

“No!” Armin yelled, cursing himself for making the confession so damn unbearable for both of them. “Jean, Jean, I’m – I – Jean, I am Eren’s brother. Look. I am Eren Yeager’s brother. He – He drove the car that night, and I am his brother. I don’t want you to live in a lie. I am the brother of the man who killed _yours_.”

Watching Jean space out, Armin waited for the terrified look to come. Armin waited for that face he always had near Marco’s grave, so full of disbelief and the sensation that none of it could be true. Armin waited for Jean to grab him by the shoulders and shake him senseless, blaming him for not being honest, for not being open. Armin waited, and waited, and waited as he heard the sole noise of Jean drinking the last juice droplets, the box shrinking and his hand turning into a fist around the container. Armin couldn't get himself to look him in the eye, to face him properly and bravely. He closed his eyes, aware of his surroundings, of the street lights turning on as the sun set, of his own breathing as well as Jean’s, of his tensed jaw as he waited for the punch that would most certainly land on his face and leave him all bloody and equally torn.

None of it came, just the breeze from erratic movements which made the grass wobble near the blankets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi. Just some details before I go. This chapter was written while listening to Lizzy McAlpine's over-the-ocean call. 
> 
> Also, when Armin calls Jean "Harry" it's because one of Harry Styles' Golden lyrics is "I know that you're scared because I'm so open." which............. I find breathtakingly amazing, but that's just my humble opinion.
> 
> Thanks again for reading!


	12. this is how a heart breaks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean really couldn't stand it any more.
> 
> (I bet this is a good time for you to read this while listening to Armin's favorite song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=elC-bXqLx-Y)

He leapt, making his strides longer and longer as he got closer, feeling like he was one step closer to flying as though he had been about to meet Marco himself up in heaven. Running terribly fast, Jean felt the wind hit his face, helping him hold back the tears. Impossibly tight, he could feel every muscle of his face tense up at the sight of Armin’s house’s front door. After hearing Mikasa’s question to an Armin who never came right after crossing the main entrance, Jean inhaled deeply and prepared himself to tear down the door on his way to the hall. Seeing it slightly open was the sign for him not to give up, and so he left Mikasa standing in shock before him. Moving as swiftly as possible, Jean skipped her attempt to stop him in his tracks and soon his steps sounded even louder against the tiles. Careful not to slip, he arrived in the living room, having the infuriating sight of Eren Yeager, now all long-haired and unrecognizable, enjoying the TV as if he had not murdered a person just a few years ago. Mikasa immediately stood in between, yet not defensively enough to cover the entirety of the guy’s body. Somehow, Jean could notice how calculating she was in her actions, so his nostrils opened to let out the hot air caught inside of him. Realizing he had just been noticed by the man in question, he saw the confusion in his eyes as he stood up slowly and carefully, wearing a troubled look with his eyebrows furrowed. As he saw Eren lay a hand on Mikasa’s left shoulder, staring at her intensely, she relaxed at his touch and moved next to him. Taking a few despicably slow steps towards him, Jean involuntarily clenched his teeth and prepared himself for battle.

“You sure are an idiot for a first break-in,” Eren said, sarcasm flowing in his speech and making Jean fume at the sight of a smirk.

The guitarist made sure to wipe it off his face, his knuckles landing on Yeager’s belly and pushing his hand deeper into his guts, giving it his all to leave Eren breathless. Watching his eyeballs intently as he noticed the blood pressing them, Jean kicked his legs and Armin’s brother fell backwards with no chance to protect himself. Staring back at Mikasa as if asking for help, Jean noticed how Eren’s look changed to one of helplessness, making her move at the sight of such a sign. Before Mikasa could stop him in her arms, for he would never wound the innocent, he sat down on Eren’s waist, letting all his weight sink in as he grabbed the back of the young man’s head in his hands, tugging at his hair almost animalistically. Feeling Mikasa push him aside with a strength he had not forseen, he soon heard the bawling of a new witness to the scene, heavy breathing filling the silent room. Regardless of the black-haired woman’s power, he held on to the locks of hair invading the creases between each of his fingers, suddenly getting Eren’s face close enough to him to see the look of distress in his eyes. As if being commanded by an inhuman force, Jean felt his grip tighten while his fist made contact with the man’s left cheek, his head bouncing on the ground. Not feeling relieved enough, Jean went for another punch – maybe just to make it even, getting Eren’s head knocked on the tiles one more time. Yelling from the bottom of his stomach, Jean made an attempt to sit back down on Eren’s upper body more violently to no avail, Mikasa stopping him mid-jump, restraining him from any more damage to be done. As he felt his arms being tied up behind his back, he did his best to reach his enemy’s legs with his feet before kicking both his leg casts, biting his lips not to give up the good fight. He thought that he deserved that and so much more. Jean was not so sure how it had turned out to be, but he heard Mikasa hiss his lover’s name to help her and just move, so Jean’s kick count got up to four before Armin took the static body away.

“Scumbag, you filthy, useless dickbag,” Jean screamed, and his voice could be heard from every single corner of the small house with astounding clarity. “You piece of shit, how the fuck are you still here, all wild and free? Are you not ashamed of your miserable existence?”

“Whatcha talking about, dumbfuck?” Eren’s hoarse voice sounded somewhere behind Armin, who sat down on the living room’s table near what he decided to call some outdated piece of meat. Looking for Eren’s eyes, he avoided giving any other looks towards Armin and even ignored how restricted he felt by Mikasa’s grasp. Seeing tears fall on the floor he stared at, Jean tried his best not to take it out on the rest. It was he who should be suffering, it was he who should be restraining Eren as he beat the life out of him, and it was he who should’ve died in first place.

“You are a murderer. That’s what I’m saying!” Jean kept on yelling back, swallowing down the impulse to cry and throw himself into a puddle of tears. “You are a worthless coward – that’s what you are! You should be rotting in some goddamn jail.”

Still seeming confused, yet much more aware of who he was speaking with, Eren cleared his throat and spoke with a low voice, staring up at Jean from the vulnerable position behind his brother’s legs. “Shit. Marco Bodt?”

“Don’t you –“ Jean said, his voice faltering as tears threatened to fall from his eyes. Inhaling deeply and biting his mouth aggressively, he tried to control himself in the name of his brother’s life and death. “Don’t you fucking dare say his name. You don’t have the right to do that shit in front of me, of anyone.”

“So you’re his precious brother? The one who didn’t show up as a witness that day?” He heard Eren reply, watching how he shrugged his shoulders with a pout. “What are you doing here now when you didn’t move your ass back then?”

“Why,” Jean answered almost instantly, his voice trembling as he punched the floor with his right hand, an act of immeasurable anger. “Why are you still alive?”

“Because I deserve to live on,” Eren said matter-of-factly, ignoring the fixed stare filled with rage and the hitch of his brother’s breathe at his comment. Some seconds passed, and Jean watched Armin step towards him, suddenly leaving Eren alone with his thoughts. Feeling Mikasa’s hold loosen up a bit, Jean looked into Armin’s eyes pleadingly, praying for him to let him free from the nightmare they got themselves into. As a response, Armin’s bright orbs looked down on him with a feeling he could not decipher, yet wouldn’t care about deciphering either. As Mikasa left Jean, now just partially calmer, Armin got a hold of his hand, lacing their fingers together as he sat on the floor next to the broken man. “Because my existence is as meaningful as anyone else’s, douche.”

Jean looked down at his feet, avoiding Armin’s strong gaze or the way Mikasa intended to protect the murderer to death if she had to. “How?” He asked in a whisper, letting the weight of his body relax on the kitchen counter’s wall behind him.

“Our father is one of the country’s most renowned deputies,” Mikasa spoke then, breaking her silence as a witness of most brutal event to have ever taken place in that home of their own. “Not precisely because of good deeds, so he had to avoid being publicly humiliated and confronted by his fellow congressmen.”

“So he just got rid of a living hell with money?” Jean whispered, his every word and sound bouncing on the cold floor and resonating in the entire room. “So Marco died and the murderer did not pay the price?”

“Technically, he did,” Mikasa talked back, shamefully avoiding Jean’s eyes. “Just not the way you would expect.”

“Marco,” Jean started off, coming out too strong to his liking. Fixing his intonation, watching Eren from the corner of his eyes and addressing Mikasa as if looking for more answers, he resumed his thoughts. “Marco’s life was priceless. How am I supposed to feel relieved that a sum of money was paid to keep his death a secret? Not even the killer himself made the effort to pay it. It was your dad. You lucky dumbfuck.”

“Jean Kirschstein,” Mikasa whispered sincerely, kneeling in front of him, her back to Eren as their eyes widened in disbelief. “I truly apologize for all the damage done. My apologies are not enough, yet let them sink in. Make them help you let go of all that hurt. Should I sacrifice my own life to pay for Marco’s, Lord knows I could, though I can’t find it in me to go against my own desires.”

“Mikasa, no,” Jean said, feeling his cheeks slightly wet as he looked into the woman’s empty stare. “Just. God. Armin, take me away,” he called out for help, staring into baby blue eyes, giving up to the other’s strength for his own was null.

Repeating the request like a mantra under his breath, hand in hand with the blonde boy, he stood up and let himself be dragged outside the Yeager’s house. Close to planting his face on the concrete ground, he tripped on the sidewalk and held on to it with his free hand, taking the chance to let go of Armin’s and find somewhere to sit. Wiping his hand on his worn-out jeans, a first try at getting rid of Armin’s sweet scent yet leaving it in there, he looked away, back towards the avenue where he had come from. Speechless, his mind racing, Jean left his eyes wander around, from the streetlights at night, to Armin’s golden hair, the houses behind him repeating themselves as though he were inside the matrix, and back to the floor again. Trying to speak, just to say anything, he forced himself to open his mouth, quiet sobs leaving his throat with no sounds to be pronounced but the mere ones of free air release. Focusing his lost look on his chest, he noticed how it went up and down at a fast pace, his heart wrenching at the thought of sitting opposite Armin Arlert in such a deplorable condition. Turning one of his hands into a fist and feeling his nails rip a layer of skin on his palm, he managed to control himself a bit – at least enough to raise his gaze from the ground and direct it to Armin’s face, dimly lit by the same broken streetlight from the first time they’d met. Watching him be teary eyed, crying relentlessly yet so painfully silently, he gave it a try and started to speak.

“Armin,” he said, making the effort to control his impending wailing, “Armin, please, tell me you’ve just found out about this.”

“That’s not right at all,” Armin exploded in return, bending his knees to get close to Jean, taking one of his hands and clutching at his heart with the other. Jean realized it was as if he were just cherishing the last few seconds before never seeing each other again. “Jean, I’ve known you for what’s felt like a lifetime. I saw you there, I saw you cry, I saw you flop down on Marco’s grave.”

“That’s a lie, isn’t it?” Jean screeched, his hand lying limply on Armin’s palm. “Please, Armin, sunshine, there’s no way you could do that to me.”

“I’ve watched you,” Armin continued, ignoring Jean’s pleas as he locked his gaze on their joined hands. “Every single time, I’ve watched from afar. I always wanted to get closer, to say I was sorry, to offer the help you’ve needed so much. I shouldn’t have-“ Armin interrupted himself as Jean’s hand fell from his, hitting the floor loudly. Searching for his eyes, Jean moved his head until he got him to look back, waterfalls meeting swampy mud. “I shouldn’t have kept this hidden from you. I was scared and reckless.”

“God, Armin,” Jean replied, pressing his lips together forcefully as he felt his hands go numb. “Did I do something wrong? Armin, should I have been any different?” Seeing Armin shake his head frenetically, he realized he had really not made any mistakes in their short time together. Cursing himself for wearing his heart on his sleeve, he huffed exasperatedly. “Armin, I – I wouldn’t have allowed myself to fall for you so hard and so fast if you’d said so. Shit, Armin, what the actual fuck did you do to me?”

“Jean, I never–“ he heard the other begin and felt sick at the sound of his name. “I never meant to hurt you this way. Jean, I would’ve never – Jean.”

“But you did,” Jean retorted, looking away in disbelief. As if realizing, or rather processing, what Armin had previously said, the musician turned his head back violently. “Un-fucking-believable. How long have you known me?”

“A long time.”

“How long?” Jean hissed, squinting at Armin, never taking his eyes away from the other’s. “Don’t tell me you were there. Please, don’t tell me you were in his funeral. Marco – Shit, just when I thought he'd put you in my way for good. I can’t believe this shit.”

“No. No, I wa–“ Armin spoke reassuringly, reaching out to Jean with both hands and holding himself back immediately.

“How could I believe you anyway?” Jean interrupted him, breathing out as he extended his left arm in Armin’s direction, motioning for him to give something back. Standing up on his own, watching the college student from his height, he kept the arm out and waited until Armin shrugged off Jean’s backpack from both his shoulders.

As if on cue, as Jean’s fingers kept contracting and relaxing in sync, Armin slid one of the backpack’s handles on the guitarist’s lower arm, letting his fingers graze on the hot skin of the angered man. Suddenly feeling burned by Armin’s touch, Jean retreated, hanging his backpack on one of his shoulders and making his way to the main avenue. Hearing his feet sound loudly against the pavement, he held an arm up until it touched his lips and bit it to hold back his crying. Humming loudly to control his pain, guttural sounds left his throat, his vocal cords starting to hurt from the awful voice projection he’d had back in the Yeager’s house. Jean kept on walking, stiffly and quickly, hoping for the pain to be caged into his heart once again. He had done so for years, every time he looked at his parents, or every time he spoke of Marco with Connie and Sasha, seeing their gloomy faces when the subject came up. Somehow, he just did not feel as strong anymore. Ignoring the steps approaching him silently, he was taken out of his mind by a pair of pale hands encircling his elbow, tugging on the bitten arm in an attempt for the person to still themselves and prevent a fall. Turning around, Jean wished to see something, anything but Armin’s face gaping back at him desperately, his hazel eyes being reflected on multi-layered light blue as the blonde boy winced, breathing heavily. Time froze as he noticed Armin would give it his all for him to stay. Every movement around them ceased completely as Armin’s lips opened to do his best and get him to stop.

“Jean, please, I am not deserving of your forgiveness but – Please, I don’t want to lose you.”

Shaking his head to counterattack, Jean inhaled through his nostrils, feeling the air fill his lungs. “Are you sure you don’t want to lose me or do you not want to be alone?” He gruntled, still holding himself back for the love he’d started to feel. Repeatedly, he blamed it all on himself for being so naïve. Seeing the disapproving look on Armin’s face, a grimace appearing in his porcelain face, Jean turned his hands into fists.

“That was too low,” Armin whispered, being a sobbing mess again. “I stay true to what I’ve said. In the end, I did stay true to my heart.”

“Did you stay true to me, though? Don’t you fucking say you did.”

“I can’t see any difference between my heart and you,” Armin shrieked, letting go of Jean’s arm. “Look, I’ve just – I’ve reached the point where I just can’t lose you.”

One, two, three… Just like in his shows, the fear of being wrong, making something wrong, haunted him, twisting his insides, making a turmoil out of his anatomy. Feeling a tear run down his right eye, he looked down at Armin, seeing the moonlight reflect on his big, round eyes. Taking his chin with one of his hands, Jean lowered his face to hover over the shorter man’s. Watching Armin’s lips open out of surprise, he took his chance and pressed his mouth against them firmly, muffling a sigh that was about to come out of them. Jean felt Armin shiver under his motionless touch while his thin arms flew around his neck, kissing back tenderly. Resentfully, the musician made the kiss feel more forceful, pouring his heartbreak into it as passionately as he could, holding on to Armin’s waist with his free hand. Kissing, at this point, was the weapon and the therapy, the means to communicate how much he’d been let down and how much they could have been. As Armin went for the option of deepening the kiss, biting on his lower lip hungrily, Jean parted, moving away from the other’s face and ducking his body to get rid of Armin’s pair of strong arms hanging around his neck.

“Remember what I said on our first date?” Jean murmured, barely moving his mouth to speak, as his lover’s gaze drifts from his eyes to his lips and vice versa.

“Jean. I am truly, completely, wholeheartedly sorry,” Armin talked back gently, between whimpers to hold back feeling too much, and Jean realized he relied on such a device as if it could actually help change anything. As a response, the taller man approached him with his eyes closed, pressing their heads together, their noses nuzzling in the cold night air for the last time before his departure.

“We can’t be friends.”

Opening his eyes, lowering his stare to the floor, Jean took his leave, letting go of who he’d expected to become so much more than just an awful memory. He heard Armin fall to his knees after spending so much time suppressing the hurt in his heart while he himself hiccupped, his chest pounding painfully. Running then, he crossed the street, still not recovering from such breathlessness. Crossing his arms above his stomach, he held himself from the waist to feel a bit more at ease, more compact, frightened because of the speed of his beating heart as he reached Connie’s bar and opened the entrance, sliding in rapidly. Taking no time to find Connie cleaning some of the tables near where he stood, he ran to him and clung to his arm, his mind racing. Pleading for Sasha to take him home, he watches Connie while waiting for their approval. Between “Can I stay?”s and whimpers, Jean realized for the first time that he had never needed much from them as they had from him.

“Can I stay?” He repeated, his gaze going from Sasha’s eyes to Connie’s, a dumbstruck expression in both their faces as they tried to understand what was happening to Jean.

After a nod from Sasha’s side, he felt her hand strongly grab his as she kissed Connie goodbye, surprising Jean as unfocused and alarmed as he felt. Leaving the venue, Sasha opened the backseats door and helped Jean lie on the comfort of leather and linen. From the rearview mirror, Jean could feel Sasha’s heavy eyes on him, a million questions running through her head. As she started driving, Jean let himself go, lifelessly pondering over nothing as the streetlights occasionally lit up his face in the darkness of Sasha’s car. When coming to a red light, Sasha stopped, slowly turning around to offer her friend to release the stress he’d been holding in any way he wanted. Jean could always feel how well Sasha had known him ever since childhood, so he let the tears he’d been holding back fall, sobs coming through his gritted teeth. Too much to bear, the volume of his crying increased when Sasha was ready to start the car.

“Why did he do that to me?” Jean yelled, making Sasha freeze from the repeated times he screamed the same question. Out of control, Jean kept on wailing uncontrollably loudly, feeling Sasha’s eyes on him as the red light fell on their faces again. “Sasha. Sasha. Why did he do that to me?”

“Jean. Breathe. You sound like a broken record, Kirschstein, come on.”

Jean’s wailing went off, as if some button deep inside of him had been switched abruptly, and he looked back at her, his bloodshot eyes opening to state the truth himself for the first time. “My boyfriend is the brother of Marco’s murderer – of the fucker who got away with it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title is from one of Rob Thomas' songs. Jean would be proud of me... if it hadn't been for the fact I wrote him internally dying the whole time.
> 
> If you are reading this, thank you so much. ♡♡♡


	13. under the same sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean ponders about them.

“Get in the car.”

“Sash’, don’t.”

“What? He has to know.”

Jean had not meant to screw it all up so brutally. By the time he'd confessed what he’d just discovered, Sasha stopped mid-street, hopefully not keeping anyone else stuck with them since it was already late at night. Having pulled up by a 24/7 parking lot, she'd let the motor continue working as she left the driver’s seat door open. He had been friends with both of them ever since middle school, and he had expected Sasha to react more maturely than Connie. Right then, having seen themselves stuck in an isolated parking lot some streets away from the bar, he'd regretted having acted so impulsively. It was in his genes, and he couldn’t help reaching out to them of all people. As the backseat door flung open, Sasha had taken Jean out of the car, tugging his arm forcefully and shoving him far from her. Jean could imagine how much it hurt Sasha, but he just hadn't figured out how much it had affected her for real; in his eyes, he was the one hurting the most. Now and always.

“I suppose you at least beat that shithead to a pulp,” Sasha had commented coldly, staring at Jean as he leaned against the car boot. “I wouldn’t have let that misery of a man go on with his life. That’s not fair.”

“It’s the least I could do. I did, but then I realized it wouldn’t bring him back,” Jean had replied, watching her take her head in both hands and start sobbing quietly from the corner of his eye. “Marco wouldn’t have wanted that any way.”

“I know. But he’s not here, and he deserved to be more than anyone.”

He hadn't been sure of how much it would destroy Sasha of all people. Connie had always been the one to be more prone to being caught by the hands of despair, fortunately having Sasha and him to make up for his zero tolerance to frustration and hard times. Taking that into account, Jean had wanted to confide in her, just to let it all out, to put an end to how much he’d bottled up because of Marco’s death right there at an abandoned lot. He had long wanted an easy way out, some way to escape from the suffering he kept inside, and had never had the chance to do so in light of such a heart-wrenching event. Being stuck together, standing in the chalked pavement simulating a parking lot, Jean had watched Sasha frightfully. Not only had he felt hurt by the things he had realized that day, but he'd also felt sort of betrayed by the way his friend reacted. In his mind, she'd been supposed to be comforting him for being so horribly unlucky that he could not even love the right person. He simply did not know what else to expect any more.

“Fuck you,” he'd heard her say mightily, “you’re not the only one suffering here, y’know?”

“Sash’, it’s not like that, it’s just that –“

“You’ve never,” Sasha had yelled at him loudly, turning her back to him as she opened the backseat door again, “ever been the only one to suffer about it all.”

Watching her curl up on the back seat, Jean had taken it as a sign to take the wheel. As he heard her quiet command to go back to Connie’s bar, he'd left the parking lot in the same direction they had just left. The drive back had been extremely silent except for the few breaths that Sasha had occasionally let out in an attempt to keep her crying a private matter, isolating herself from Jean. Not keeping up with Sasha’s exceptional driving, he'd skipped a few red lights on their way to Connie, noticing how empty the streets were at that time of night. Turning left on the main avenue, he had parked by Up in the Air, watching Connie from afar as he suddenly felt destroyed at the sight of his friend. As he saw him wave goodbye at the few customers leaving the bar, he had realized how kind he was towards them despite how tired he also felt. While Sasha opened the door beside her and got out of her car, Jean had undone his seatbelt and followed her from behind, glancing at the end of the street and wishing just for a second to be able to see Armin again somewhere around them. In contrast to his friend, he had been unsurprisingly unkind to his loved ones. Standing there got harder to deal with by the second.

“No need to be so cryptic,” Connie broke the silence between them with an easy smile, watching Jean and Sasha’s immovable faces back and forth. “OK. Whatcha hiding? If you got AIDS, I swear I’ll–“ The mere assumption that Jean and Armin were still a thing made him feel chills running down his spine. Before Jean could make any attempt to speak, Sasha laid a hand behind his back, her eyes threatening him not to say anything until they were in a safe place. As if being held hostage, Jean followed every order systematically, keeping his mouth shut and his face as neutral as possible. Looking for a reaction, Connie raised an eyebrow and looked at his girlfriend intrigued. “So?”

“Get in the car,” Sasha insisted, and Jean realized she was trying her best not to sound any more disappointed than she already felt. “For once, this ain’t ‘bout Jean.”

“Gimme a sec. I’ll call it a night,” Connie nodded his head nervously, locking the place down and putting everything into place. As he activated the bar’s alarms, he closed the front door behind him and got a big, heavy lock to secure the place. It was then when Jean wondered about how much security it would take to keep a bar safe. As if being mindread by Connie, he heard him add, “Don’t look at me like that! There’s a lot of alcohol in there.”

“Jean’s driving,” Sasha said as she approached Connie, taking him by the arm and walking beside him towards the car. Being left behind, Jean was disturbed by his friend giving him the cold shoulder; he just wasn’t used to it. When they got to the car, Sasha opened the backseat door for them to get in and turned around to wait for Jean. Strutting in their direction, Jean grabbed the car keys, got in the vehicle with them, and started it.

“Where to?” Jean asked, watching the other two from the rearview mirror, getting the sudden memory of a tall figure with tanned skin and dark brown eyes sitting by him in the passenger seat. Getting rid of the mental picture that made his eyes all stingy and wet, he got a disbelieving look from Connie and a nod from Sasha.

“It’s about time the three of us visit Marco this time,” Sasha briefly stated, ruffling Jean’s hair and sitting comfortably again, her back being straightened by their rigid leather seats. Sighing beside her, Connie looked back at him as if asking for permission.

“Sash’, I’m not sure if Jean is prepared for that yet,” he commented, his worried face being illuminated by one of the few streetlights that worked to their fullest. “Are you sure, Jean?”

“It’s alright, Con,” he answered hurriedly, not sounding convinced by the idea at all as he tightly took the wheel with both his hands and drove down Armin’s avenue. As he got closer to his house, Jean thanked whatever divinity that could come up into his head as he remembered the park divided the avenue into two one-way streets, the one that paralleled Armin’s being the right one to begin their short trip to the cemetery. Letting the air out of his lungs in one strong blow, he caught his friend’s attention, his lips parting to speak. “I must tell you something while we get there. I just – Please, listen to me and don’t ask any questions ‘til the end.”

Much more calmly that time, being able to hold his tears back after the crying marathon he’d personally taken part in, he explained to Connie what he had found out that day. Although Springer’s face seemed entirely disfigured by the time Jean admitted to have been in contact with Marco’s murderer, the man did his best to keep on listening. Reliving that afternoon all over again was not ideal in any way to him since there still was a lot of mourning for him to do, yet telling it to both Sasha and Connie did wonders to the way he viewed things. All the while, he made a few turns before driving into the highway, making their way to Marco much clearer in the middle of the night. Jean made a huge effort not to look at Connie, who had been shaken by the news and the way he’d faced Eren Yeager so trivially, so mundanely, through the rearview mirror again. When Jean got the first question from him, he couldn’t help but notice that he looked as hurt as Sasha had been, though much more passive in his way of showing it. Funnily enough, the inquiry had been the same as his girlfriend’s, his answer being similar to the one he’d given before. “Marco wouldn’t have wanted me to get into so much trouble, so I stopped,” he admitted, trying to get rid of the memory of Armin’s hand taking his to run away from the scene, his worried eyes falling on him as Jean did his best to focus on walking as normally as possible. Accelerating, he drove faster, lightly pressing one of the pedals not only to get to their destination faster, but to make sure his knees and feet worked properly. He hadn’t had the change to feel them at all since Armin’s confession. Pulling out of the highway, getting closer to the big land inhabited by the souls of past, present, and even future generations, he directed Sasha’s car toward the cemetery’s main entrance, checking the time. Being 3.30am, there still were four hours left before they could get anywhere near Marco’s grave.

“So I guess you recognized him before then?” Connie asked later, once he’d tamed his sobbing. “You’ve literally worked for him for six months or so.”

“I’m sure I wouldn’t forget those eyes for the life of me,” Jean replied, disappointed in himself, “but I swear I only got to see his back a couple times. His hair grew long, like, pretty long, so it wasn’t clear whether it was him or not at all.”

“Wait, so you didn’t know?” His childhood friends asked in surprise, the puzzle pieces in his mind falling into place. All the while, Sasha had probably misunderstood the context when he had vaguely told her about their meeting in the middle of his crisis. “Shit, that’s stinks!”

“Do you really think I’d hide something like this from you guys?” Jean tsked in return, eyeing Sasha intently. Getting her to gulp down her pride, he continued speaking. “I was fooled! Armin – Look, Armin always knew, but he never told me.”

“So he lied to you and pretended everything was normal?” Sasha asked, sounding alarmed and looking dangerously red. He felt glad they were no longer anywhere near the Yeager residence. “You must be pretty rotten to even think of doing something so awful!”

As silence fell among them, only the sound of the night breeze could be heard leaking through a small window opening. Understanding that it had all been a scam was a terrible start for Jean, which is why he let his head fall into his hands again, pulling his hair lightly just to keep himself with his feet on the ground. Feeling another pair of hands on his shoulders, he turned to face them a little, just making himself visible by means of a blinking eye, runny nose, and quivering lips. Between cooing and promises that it would all get better, Jean let himself cry in front of them for the first time, his tears running down his cheeks like rivers, his eyes acting on their own. Trying to make his breathing even, he fell into a stupor which was hard for him to overcome, and soon he fell asleep on his hands, being watched over by Sasha’s and Connie’s red eyes and troubled looks. After a long period of nightmares in his sleep, he got to rest for the first time in a while, his sleep contributing to making feel more at ease for once. That night, he did not dream of blood, of hospital rooms, or of saying goodbyes and not getting any words in return. That night, Jean just fell asleep to the sound of the sizzling breeze and the voices of his friends speaking sweetly to him like they’d never done before. By the time he woke up, he found Sasha and Connie’s tired faces staring back at him, bags under their eyes as they hovered over him to ask how he was doing and whether he needed anything at all. The sunlight outside the car was already visible enough, some of its rays going through the windows and falling on Jean’s face. Shaking his head, he looked at the flower girl, who seemed to have just arrived to set her flower kiosk by the entrance. Opening the door, Jean invited the rest to leave the car for a while and stretch themselves, the three of them bearing in mind that visiting Marco implied looking like the best they could.

* * *

“Aren’t you tired?”

“I am,” Connie yawned, his feet barely touching Marco’s epitaph as he slowly swung his legs from left to right. “But I’m also happy to be here. We were so stupid! How did we never come here together before?”

“You’re right,” Sasha whispered, her eyes lowered shamefully as she fixed the flower arrangements that remained there, taking out all the wilted flowers. “He must’ve missed us so much.”

“Probably, as much as we’ve done him,” Jean replied, guilt piling up inside his chest as though it were just another set of cards to organize before their delivery. “I am so sorry, everyone. There’s only me to blame.”

Taking one of the million post-its he was used to finding in Marco’s grave every time he paid his brother a visit, he read it quietly. The first time he had gone to the cemetery on his own, six months after the accident, he encountered a stack of the same squared papers on top of his brother’s memorial, and he had soon interpreted it as some sort of apology he could relate to – to some extent, the guilt he could potentially share with the criminal, which was a current emotion that invaded him every now and then. The first short messages, which had been written with neat handwriting, began with already concise and quite direct apologies, such as the typical _“I’m sorry, Marco”_ he had gotten used to taking from the grave every visit. Later on, those evolved to their shortened form, reading _“I’m sorry”_ only, which Jean found extremely realistic considering the fact that the perpetuator had to apologize to the ones who remained alive and suffering. Or so he’d thought, until he remembered that Eren Yeager’s reaction was entirely incompatible with the idea of apologizing to him at all. It was undoubtedly impossible for him to have taken part in such a plan, which made him wonder if Mikasa had done it in an attempt to atone for her brother’s fatal error. Right then, scribbled with the same handwriting style on a lilac memo, there was a message that was equally short yet way sweeter than what he had discovered the murderer to be. _“You’ll be alright,”_ the letters formed, pressed together in the center of the small colored square. Folding it as he had done with the previous ones he had found somewhere in there, he put the paper inside his jacket’s right pocket. Checking for more papers to be retrieved, he found himself wondering about how selfish he’d been, making his feelings a priority while disregarding the rest’s. Sasha had made it clear enough that her hurting was as valid as his, and Connie had done so shortly after. Jean had never meant to take a second and think about their feelings, he soon realized, scratching the back of his head and neck a bit too harshly than he usually did.

“I wonder how those little papers fly all the way here from other graves,” Connie commented, pointing in Jean’s pocket’s direction. “Don’t take what isn’t yours.”

Although Jean was well aware of the fact that this message was initially meant to get to Marco, he couldn’t help but feel addressed by it as well. After all, all of those who had known and loved his brother deserved to receive this kind of message, even if the sender was the killer himself.

“I always find them,” he replied, laughing awkwardly as he got unexpectedly surprised faces from his bald friend and the red-haired woman. “I’ve had to put all the ones I’ve found in a box to keep track of whatever they’re meant to say. Maybe Marco was meaning to give me a new hobby of sorts – God knows I suck at changing gig repertoires.”

Still sitting on the grave, Connie gave him a bright smile, and Sasha followed after she disposed of the bouquets that were no longer needed. Repositioning the rest of the flowers around the grave, he heard her hum loudly, drawing their attention. As she shook a small bouquet in her hand, he focused his attention on the lavender being held and realized how fresh its petals looked. Opening his mouth to speak, Sasha shook her head as if to keep the secret with her. He knew that she was willing to hide the fact that she thought Jean visited Marco way too often, yet he felt the need to clarify the information, himself feeling moved by the appearance of flowers that hadn’t been brought by him. Sitting straight, his eyes on Connie and Sasha, he nodded in the bouquet’s direction.

“Have you come here lately?” He asked, waiting for a positive answer to push any other thoughts away. The idea of Mikasa and Armin visiting him out of pity made him want to explode.

“Nope,” Sasha said, pointing at the flowers she had just lain at the center of the grave. “If you’re asking because of those, we never put them here. The last time we came to visit Marco was, like, three months ago.”

For the rest of their visit, they took the time to talk about what had happened to them so far, the good and the bad things, as to make Marco catch up with them. With an easy smile on his lips, Jean grazed his hand on the cold marble block he sat nearby as he heard Connie and Sasha tell him about their old-married-couple lifestyle. He pictured the two of them speaking in front of his brother’s grave like this the other times they had visited, and he giggled softly. When being asked to share some details about his own life, he could finally update his brother on a truth he had tried not to tell himself all night long.

“The unexpected happened, man,” he sighed, blinking a few times not to shed any more tears for a lost cause. “Sadly, I fell in love with the wrong guy. You always – You told me to watch out for losers, and I guess I never listened. It won’t happen again.”

Looking up at the sky, Jean saw the other two crying silently, their eyes lost on the inscription of their young friend’s grave. Standing up from the fresh grass, Jean watched Sasha and Connie as a witness for the first time, leaving the victim role for later, and decided to embrace their pain to help them turn it into the same old love they had always shared for their group.

“I’m sure we’ll meet again someday,” he promised, sounding much more mature than he had in the last twelve hours, and patted the shoulders of his friends, making them look back at him. “We were terrific enough for life not to ever separate us.”

Hearing Sasha’s and Connie’s sobbing subside, Jean heard her ask him to return to the bar, mentioning that both of them missed his boring songs playing in the background. Supporting his girlfriend’s stance, Connie added that some of the customers really missed him there, assuring him that a blonde guy and a giant-sized, baby-faced guy had asked for him to come back. Jean hummed in response while Connie rushed to tell him he could only do it if he really wanted to, and soon he found himself nodding as he grinned.

“Who knows? Maybe, you’ll get the right blondie.”

“Shit, Connie,” Jean hissed, smacking his upper arm. Letting out a soft laugh, he continued, “that was too soon.”

* * *

Getting a call from Hanji had not been unexpected in the least. While he stood there, in the middle of his dirty room, he did his best to fake the usual tone of voice he’d pull out in a professional context. Not that it worked much, judging by the amount of questions he got from his boss, but at least he had done his best at trying to sound normal. For the first time ever, he hadn’t shown up to work, and he did not regret it one bit. Thinking of having to deliver anything near Armin drove him mad to no end as uncertainty filled his train of thought.

“Levi went there today, and he told me the deets,” Hanji said as solemnly as they could, hinting at the fact that both them and his other boss already knew what went wrong. “It’s alright if you don’t wanna talk about it. I just wanted to let you know that it’s totally fine if you didn’t come today.”

“Hanji,” Jean whispered, feeling the sudden need to sit down because of his trembling knees, “you’re not firing me, then?”

“Not at all, silly,” came as an answer as soon as he’d finished speaking. Hanji had made sure to investigate what had happened to him, and Levi himself did the work he had used to do for ten years. Having known the Yeagers for long, he had rung their doorbell to just say hello as they were probably the only people he valued from that place. From what Hanji had found out, apparently, Mikasa had spoken to him and asked about Jean. After getting enough explanations from her, Levi double-checked the information with Petra, Jean’s neighborhood mail carrier, and finally reported to them about it to back up Jean’s absence. After having finished their narration of that day’s events, Hanji asked, “Is all this correct or was Ms. Ackerman making it all up? You never know what can get into people’s minds!”

“You’re correct,” Jean answered bitterly, thinking of the big mess he was immersed in by having all those post people knowing about his life dilemma. Shaking at the thought of even more people knowing the truth before him, he grabbed the phone in his hand tightly. “May I ask you for a favor?”

“My silence is guaranteed,” Hanji replied immediately, their voice unwavering. “I’d rather you take a week off. You have a lot to go over, and I’m sure you’ll figure everything out by next Friday’s time.”

Thanking them for their permission, Jean hung up the call and dropped the phone on his bed. Staring at the lit screen, he checked the time feeling distraught. Being half an hour late to Connie’s bar, he hurried up to change his clothes and tune Jam up before leaving home. Packing up his things and wishing his mother to have a great evening, he promised her to come back before midnight. As he took the bus on the way there, he played his sad song playlist on the phone, untangling the headphones he kept so well hidden in his pants’ back pocket. Tugging both earphones in, he wished for the bus driver not to make many stops as to get to his destination soon enough. Luckily for him, things went as expected, and in ten minutes he got off the bus, crossing the street with a fast pace as he held Jam’s case tightly. Walking down the street, getting closer to the bar, Jean looked at the back of the street once more, seeing Armin’s neighborhood park empty. As if to make sure he would not see the blonde man around, he looked out there one last time before crossing the main entrance. Not getting the chance to see Armin again made his insides twist, leaving Jean to decide whether it had been a good or bad reaction to their current situation. After all, he had taken a chance on kissing him just a few walks away from there, and he wasn’t able to do so again. Finally, trying to get rid of any negatively intrusive thoughts, he shook his head lightly, walking towards the counter to greet Connie and take the same chair he always sat on.

Arranging everything on stage didn’t take him long and, fortunately for him, Connie had decided not to turn on the LED lights taking into account how calm that day’s customers were. Some of them had asked him to play some 00’s love songs on the loud speakers, but they had not gone crazy about them. At least, Jean thought, it was his chance to shine. He was a 00’s expert when it came to playing guitar covers, so he quickly adjusted the repertoire he had thought of to a more suitable one despite being extremely abashed by it. The fact that most of the people there formed the romantic crowd made him feel agitated, yet he decided to use the suffering of not being able to be by Armin’s side for good. Fixing his sitting position with Jam on his legs, he asked Connie for help with the microphone before he started off with Daniel Powter’s _Bad Day_ , making his audience laugh at the nostalgic choice for a first song. Because it was an all-time classic, all the thirty-somethings in the crowd immediately reacted to it positively, making Jean enjoy the spontaneous choir that arose from the few verses of the song’s chorus. As he finished playing the first song, the crowd awaited silently but excitedly for the next tune to be interpreted. Jean, thankful for their silence, smiled at them as he strummed his guitar’s thicker strings, bringing The Script’s _The Man Who Can’t Be Moved_ to life after about eight years of not listening to it ever again. Although Jean’s version was not as Pop as the original, the people in front of him seemed to equally appreciate it because of how soulful the man played it in front of them. The Amazing Kirschstein had come back to the Up in the Air stage, as Connie had announced his entrance, and it showed that no one felt out of place in such a wholesome atmosphere. That made Jean comfortable enough to show a bit of himself, letting his right hand play the rhythm to the first few notes of Coldplay’s _Yellow_.

Having trouble singing the first lines of the song, he wished for Armin’s college crew to be present just like the day they’d met in there. He wished for him to visit and stop by the bar’s front door as he watched Jean from afar, all wide-eyed and as beautiful as the first time they had seen each other. Getting lost in song, Jean imagined having stayed there by Armin and stopped his playing just to keep on talking, which was something he would change if he had the chance to go back in time more than once. That way, Armin would’ve never left afterwards, probably getting stuck in some random conversation with Jean outside the bar as he told his siblings he’d wait for them near the venue. Jean was sure that they would’ve spoken all night until having Eren and Mikasa approach them to go home, and Jean would’ve been able to notice who Eren really was without having Armin lie about it. He would’ve probably had his revenge alongside Connie, and he would’ve had to deal with Mikasa one way or the other, but she would’ve eventually taken Eren away from the worthless fighting. What would’ve happened if Armin had stayed after that? Playing the song’s chorus for the first time, Jean smiled, sure of how Armin would’ve probably stayed with him to try and fix it because he was always used to fixing whatever Eren did, but Jean would’ve probably shaken his head in return and remained silent, staring at Armin much more calmly than when discovering who his brother’s murderer was. Armin would’ve blurted out a million apologies, saying that he’d always meant to tell him, to help him, and Jean would’ve understood due to the circumstances. Maybe, he would’ve found it a little weird to have been chased by this guy for so long, but he would’ve definitely understood considering how broken death can leave you. If things had turned out that way, if he hadn’t turned down their chance at talking things through, Jean would’ve most likely told him something in the lines of “Well, I can’t forgive him, but you’re not at fault,” just so that Armin would smile with tears in his eyes because “Jean, I wish I had talked to you before, but I never could,” leaving the two of them in a better place for a rather peaceful start. Although it pained him to think of the impossible, Jean kept on daydreaming, imagining how they would’ve probably had the same first date, just making sure they had a few more before Jean would kiss Armin goodnight in the same spot he’d kissed him so desperately, yet out of what he’d been willing to ask him the day before back at the park, having Armin say “yes” to the idea of being getting together. He wondered if they would’ve stayed together despite the circumstances long enough for Armin to meet his mom and dad, leaving all constraints of troubled family lives aside. He was sure his parents would’ve seen how perfectly fit for each other they were, and they would’ve approved of Armin despite the fact that Eren was bonded to him for life in some way. Years later, they would’ve rented a small apartment for the two of them just to finally move together and be near each other as much as possible. They would’ve lived together, and Jean would’ve become a great artist and a proud fiancé to poetry-writer Armin Arlert, whose readings he attended devotedly just to get Armin’s slight smiles between verses, letting Jean know that his heart fluttered as much as his own.

Jean would’ve felt proud, he realized, sitting in the same position in which he had started playing _Yellow_. Jean also realized that there was no one there but the same people who had been listening to his other songs, most of them looking up at him with tears running down their faces because of Jean’s interpretation of the song. For a moment, the musician stopped to watch everyone react to his cover, noticing that he had just been accompanied by Jam only, and he had managed to make everyone cry with his rendition any way. Standing behind the counter, he found Connie raising his hand as if trying to tell him “Let’s take 5!” but Jean didn’t need to because, if he hadn’t taken five then, when he’d had the chance to get closer to Armin and do everything right, why would he have chosen to take five when being all on his own? Letting all his pain out, he mentioned the name of his last song, getting groans from a blissfully pained audience. “This is ‘ _I don’t Love You_ ’,” he introduced it briefly before playing the first high notes with Jam’s help, who was an outstanding partner that night. While he sang a much more indie version of the My Chemical Romance single, he soon noticed he killed the romantic mood everyone had been in when he entered the bar. He supposed it was meant to be some kind of nostalgic, romantic night to all of them, but he had made the worst feelings flourish at the worst time possible. Although his singing and playing sounded way too differently from the Rock-y feeling the original song gave out, Jean’s version sounded painful enough for everyone to gape at him, seemingly heartbroken judging by the way they had all been staring at him ever since his previous cover. Trying his best to make up for the hurt he had inflicted in all of Connie’s customers, he glanced at the bar’s owner and directed his eyes to the mic. Connie, understanding the message immediately, lowered the volume of the mic for Jean’s playing to sound milder, wishing for the crowd to get into the same conversations they had left unfinished about twenty minutes before. Nevertheless, despite their team effort to make Jean’s listeners unaware of his final song, everyone sat silently before him, waiting for him to finish his last song.

When Jean left the bar, a bit later after getting a standing ovation and wishing everyone a good evening and life, he walked aimlessly around Armin’s neighborhood, following the same route he was used to walking in working hours, wishing for Armin to show up behind his window, wishing to see him at least once more if they weren’t meant to live the life he had daydreamed of. The tears he shed that night, he realized, for once did not belong to him only but to a group of people, him included, who had expected to feel much less than what they actually did in just a few minutes together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope I did Damien Chazelle justice. I really do.


	14. fake happy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean gets every body there is fake happy, too.

Lockdown had been a great opportunity for Jean to recover from all the confusion and heartbreak of the hellish week that had just passed. Keeping his distance, he had made up his mind to block Armin as a contact in his messaging app, not being able to chat with him or receive any calls. Surprisingly enough to Jean, it never occurred to him to do so out of betrayal but just self-love, trying his best to avoid any other factors which could put him on the edge. Deep inside him, he wondered if the other man had tried to get in touch with him. He wouldn’t take the risk of finding out for he would turn out to be hurt one way or the other. Fortunately, he was not the kind of guy to be an active social media user, therefore things were easier to him as he only limited himself to sharing memes among his former classmates on Facebook. If he had to be honest, as young as Armin was, he was pretty sure he wouldn’t be the kind of person to use that platform any more. He probably was more of an Instagram person – not like he’d ever know any way.

Despite the great space that these thoughts occupied in Jean’s head, the topic of Armin was just an aside to Jean. Taking into account his age and zero experience, he kept on looking for jobs that would be compatible with his degree. If he was to start a career in Music teaching or any other related occupation to music, he might as well have started as soon as he could. Once he got the mailman job on the bag, he did not bother much about looking for a better job opportunity. He’d been comfortable enough with how things came along, with the people surrounding him, the nice view around the neighborhood, or being close to home in case of an emergency among other reasons. Reasons which probably involved Armin living in the same neighborhood he was in charge of and being able to see him on a daily basis for a whole month – though, being entirely honest, Jean wouldn’t have minded knowing the Literature student for a longer time. Nevertheless, Jean was open to changes. The last few days after disaster, the musician noticed that there were some things for him to fix, some pending issues he had to deal with before even expecting romance to knock on his door. Watching his world slowly collapse made him realize he was not prepared enough to move on; he did not have enough tools to cope with such pain. For Marco, for himself, for Armin, he would have to try and get better, be better. Jean often thought about how stuck he was in life, but those last few days, he came up with the conclusion that he did not, in any possible way, know how to overcome such pain and improve his current being. By making himself better, he would be able to face him again. Well, Armin probably was not an aside, but he liked to pretend he was. “Whatever, the thing is I’m changing jobs to earn more money,” Jean thought, squinting his eyes and scrunching his nose as he tried to get rid of who, in all honesty, occupied three quarters of his mind.

Fortunately to him, Hanji hadn’t been idle. They had constantly been in touch with him just to check up on him and see how he well he had been doing for a return. By Wednesday, they called, and Jean had thought of hanging up as soon as he said hello to them, yet he was greeted with a surprising sentence which would move anyone as desperate as he was for a change. Having checked his resumé, they’d moved a few strings and contacted some of their high-school peers to give him the news he’d just needed. After talking to one of their closest friends, Mr. Berner, they had passed on the document on his academic performance and skills to him and other school administrators. Before Jean could thank them, Hanji admitted to being extremely worried about Jean’s current state of mind and future, adding that he was one of the few young people who they had seen strive at the mail office in such a short time. His boss, without a pause, also admitted to how much they’d miss him, though everyone at the post office had always wanted the best to happen to him. Unanimously, every single post person in there knew that Jean deserved more than just spending his whole life caged in an office full of bodies with expiration dates.

“Should I look for a replacement, boss?” Jean had asked them, worried that he would be making a mistake by possibly leaving on such a short notice.

“I am the one to recommend you, Jean. You shouldn’t be worrying about that,” Hanji had answered quickly, not paying much mind to his question. “Mind you, Mr. Berner is one of the most innovative and well-recognized school directors in the city. You might as well wait for his call and think of everything you know and of all your strengths. He’ll be calling you in no time.”

“I’m on it, boss,” he had ended the call with a giggle, smiling to himself warmly as he realized that Hanji Zoë probably was the kindest and most attentive person in charge of a team in the history of leaders.

Although Hanji had woken him up earlier than he had expected to, Jean felt thankful for such a blessing. Sitting up, he grabbed his phone to re-read and update his resumé after such a long time of having entirely forgotten about it.

* * *

Riding his bike and feeling it heavier than ever though he was not sure if the packages and letters were to blame, he felt the air run through his hair like a breeze. Crossing the main avenue to get to the park, he felt the pressure finally coming back if only for a while. Holding on tight to the maneuver, he let his eyes roam around, taking in the heartwarming scenery of a promising oncoming Summer. Riding through their spot, as he’d mentally labelled it the last time he had visited there like a drunken ghost, he felt the pain of finally getting there after having avoided doing so for long. Luckily, while starting his usual route, he had not encountered any beings who would block his mind from carrying out the job. His walk around the neighborhood took no more time than the expected despite the locals asking him about his wellbeing and wishing him not to have any more problems in the near future. After having delivered his packages, he faced making the decision of going through Armin’s street or simple taking a detour as not to find him around. In his heart, though, he had wanted to see Armin since the last time he left him. Jean had longed for his wit, looks, and company among others; Armin was one in a million, and no one could have ever convinced him otherwise. On his mind, there also co-existed the idea of not being the only one to suffer, of making him pay by simply showing himself around and making his presence be felt, which was the predominant factor taken into account before turning the street where Armin lived. Walking down, his honorable mailbag hanging empty on his side, he mumbled the words to an invented song that sounded closest to an apology. Feeling the sun rays hit his face, he took his sunscreen bottle and opened the cap, the same way the blonde boy had more than a month earlier, pouring some of the cream in his fingers and filling his facial skin with white dots. Spreading the product rather mindlessly, he continued his journey back to the bike, passing by some of the cars that went the same way as him. Overall, Armin’s street was silent except for the occasional vehicle sounds or the leaves crashing against each other after the wind moved them rhythmically. The neighborhood, the houses, the fences, and the gardens hadn’t changed one bit in his short absence. Only green grew around him, decorating the metallic touches of what surrounded each of the neighbors’ homes. Carelessly, he made his way back to the park staring up at the sky, though he decided to lower his eyes a bit and watch through the shorter man’s window as if trying to find him somewhere around there. Unsurprisingly enough to him, Armin was nowhere to be found on the second floor, which could probably mean he was back to school. Good for him, Jean thought resentfully, about to move on before he saw golden locks hurriedly move against the curtains. Freezing in his spot, he realized there was something entirely different about the silhouette behind the fabric. He could tell by the amount of light filtered through it that the whole neighborhood had not changed in any sense, yet all possible changes could be found in that intriguing silhouette. As curiosity killed the cat, he took five steps more while pretending he was about to leave. Right then and there, watching from a different angle, he could see the same fluffy hair he’d grown used to appear through the window glass, now clearly showing half of Armin’s curious face as if hoping not to be discovered. Would he be standing there, wanting to see him as much as he did? Would he be standing there, suffering for him as much as he did?

Noticing the difference much better, Jean opened his eyes wide, looking into Armin’s blue orbs in surprise. Long locks of hair which could be tied up in a funny ponytail or turned into loose buns were replaced by short pixie hair with an undercut. Although Armin kept his fringe intact, he seemed much more serious, much unhappier than Jean would’ve expected him to look after seeing each other again. Not withholding from interacting from afar, Jean stood in his place, shocked still. Attempting at getting Armin’s full attention, he waved at the other with not so much but a frown, his eyebrows momentarily giving his hazel eyes some shade in the center of a desert of a street. Getting the physical response he had expected while seeing Armin’s surprised look being directed back at him, Jean focused his attention on Armin more easily, having him rest his elbows on the open window frame. Suddenly, Jean wanted to run away, to go home and never leave for another week. Seeing Armin before him, though far away, he could only move his fingers gesturing the now short haircut Jean found in him out of the blue. Pointing at his head, silly as ever, Jean kept on making gestures to communicate from a distance, too scared to get close. Never changing his surprised look, he continued moving his hands as if showing approval. Later, he thought no one had even asked for it to begin with. Ridiculous. Feeling his bag’s front pocket buzz with an awfully loud ringing, he reached out for his phone without taking his eyes away from Armin’s. Lowering his gaze for just a second to read anything on the screen quickly, he was taken aback by the tone of a text message. Jean cursed himself for not having blocked him entirely.

_How have you been?_

Jean did not feel prepared enough to start a conversation. He had not walked to his door for a reason, and it had absolutely nothing to do with Yeager being one of the people who could potentially open the door. He just felt like he would be turned into crumbs and burned to the ground if he got anywhere near Armin. His heart, at the moment of reading the text, had proven so. Cursing himself under his breath, he turned around without giving any looks back, his eyes fixed on the few words he’d just read. Jean replied shortly after having an inner fight with himself, weighing the impact of anything he could say in return. He hated how good he was at boycotting himself with such ease.

_it looks good on you. the hair_

_Jean._

Fleeing the scene slowly, Jean took some strides towards the park until he felt the vibration on his palm. Examining the response, he was determined to walk faster, definitely letting go of any chance to bond over the negative things. However, something inside him told him to stop running, for he had nothing to run away from. How was he able to ask for sincerity out of Armin when he could not do it as well? The impact of such a short sentence held him back from crashing onto one of the parked cars on the street. He felt like he was listening to an in crescendo melody just when the song was about to finish. Being just a few steps away from each other, it seems, he can’t make himself move anywhere near Armin without crashing onto something, be it a car or his own uncertainty. Turning his head, eyeing Armin from the farther spot and watching just a tinier version of him desperately sticking out his body out of the window frame about to call him out, he stared into the pair of eyes which he had grown accustomed to seeing whenever he closed his own. Calmly, almost vehemently, Jean shook his head slowly, the creases of his eyes filling with the threat of new tears to be shed out of the same heartbreak he’d been so focused on mourning. Double mourning meant none at all. As he bit his lips, he vowed curtly and continued his way back to the bike, to finishing his work, to simply leaving.

* * *

“So, you’re Hanji’s top mailman!”

Jean was greeted by a smiling Mr. Berner at the Rose International School’s entrance. As magnanimous as the name made it sound, the musician was surprised to find it was a rather small institution. Trying not to pull out a long face, for he knew what such a tiny school meant to his pockets, he maintained a professional, distant façade. Coming in, four bells rang simultaneously around the school to let the children and teens know it was time for them to have a break. However, Jean tried to take it as his ultimate opportunity to wake up from the child-free life he’d been living for about two years. Smiling slightly, he vowed to anyone he saw before an avalanche of kids covered all spaces near them. After telling Mr. Berner he couldn’t believe their recommendation, he let out a giggle at the shiny eyes that stared back at him.

“We were high school best friends,” he commented more than a little bit self-conscious, Jean noticed. He wondered if being high school best friends was code for high school sweethearts, and he suddenly felt something tug at his tongue to let out some kind of risky sentence that would kick his ass out of the upcoming interview. Holding himself back and telling himself off for such an irrelevant idea, he just kept silent, nodding as Mr. Berner told him about how great Hanji was. “I know how demanding they are. I’m pretty sure you’re a good prospect already.”

“Thank you, sir,” Jean sighed as he internally warned himself not to screw things up in yet another interview. While they kept on walking, Jean watched his surroundings completely awestruck. Never had he ever visited such a lively school; the walls were bright, and the ambiance was entirely adjusted to the small people attending the place. When he saw some teens playing ukulele somewhere around the tiny garden, he was reminded of how great it was to share such a thing as music with starters like them.

“They’re really talented,” Mr. Berner clapped his hands enthusiastically, pointing out in their direction before they reached a tall door. “It was so sad to know Miss Dreyse had to leave us. The good thing about it all is that she’s expecting twins!” Jean heard him after a pause, getting all overexcited as he filled him out on details that never really concerned him. The kind man was definitely testing his self-control, be it deliberately or not.

“It must’ve been a blessing for the community,” Jean spoke quietly, almost too formally to keep it up, testing the waters as they entered what seemed to be the music room. Getting an easy smile for a response, he relaxed in the seat he’d just taken. Step two: keep the kind face, and don’t cross your arms over your chest.

“Definitely! She even wants us to educate her children when they grow up,” Mr. Berner followed on Jean’s brief utterance while Jean instantly felt like he was being the main character of a failed rom-com. He just couldn’t believe the amounts of filter the man lacked, and that was saying something considering Jean was the most random person he’d known so far. “The good thing is that you could take her position without making much efforts! You do look like music flows inside of you nonstop.”

Containing his laughter at the awful way of acknowledging his passion, he limited himself to grin and turn his head to look outside the window. Watching the group get larger around the uke players, he took a deep breath before answering, “What can I say? It’s the least a Music teacher should look like.”

“Look, Hanji told me lots of great things about you,” Mr. Berner said in return as Jean kept his eyes back on the headteacher. “But I think it’s about time you let out some of those wonders yourself!”

Jean suddenly wanted to die. Typically, interviews would get to that part eventually, people asking him about your strengths and weaknesses, the best and worst things about you, basically the marketing side of him. He was used to getting there, and he always failed to surprise his interviewers. Apparently, he looked like people could expect much more from him, yet he ended up disappointing all the people who chose to give him a chance at their schools. Straightening his back and holding his hands to his knees, not adding too much pressure to make Berner think he was nervous, he opened his mouth to speak.

“I am twenty-seven years old,” Jean started, giving it his all not to give up mid-sentence. “My abilities rely on making good team decisions and being empathic towards others. I am still working on my self-confidence. Funnily, it is my drive to improve most things in practice.”

Staring up at him, keeping his silence, the headteacher nodded. Jean counted the seconds before the punchline. _We’ll call you_ resonated in his head as he mentally scolded himself for trying to cross his arms or link his hands in the middle of an interview.

“Well, that sounds like a great way of summing yourself up,” the musician heard his interviewer answer, certainly looking unsurprised by his description. “But I didn’t want to go that deep. How about work? From what I read in your resumé, you don’t have experience as a teacher. How could you back that up?”

Taking his defeat for granted, he was shocked to get such a different assertion from the previous ones he’d received. Making himself comfortable, he explained how his relationship with music worked and what he did to keep his connection to it despite the job he currently had. Overall, Mr. Berner looked happy about his responses and even contributed to the conversation by saying that someone like him would certainly be a great addition to his institution. Then, Jean patiently listened to the community’s description as they went over the students in there and their experiences with the Music class so far. By the end of the interview, Jean found himself shaking hands with the friendly man before saying their goodbyes in the middle of the hall full of kids that were ready to go. Jean heard a promise of a call in the noise of mixed voices, wheeled schoolbags, and loud laughter. Turning his back to leave, he bid farewell to everyone in the school’s reception and stepped out the tall, green fence guarding the place’s safety. Too confused to know his way back home, he lit the phone screen to unlock the device and check his location on the map. To be a mailman, he sure was the most inoperative person when it came to knowing where he was standing. Once again, this betrayed him as he crashed onto a huge someone, feeling his face hit the surface of a brick wall.

“Shit, sorry,” he heard for a short apology and stood up, staring into tired honey eyes. Getting a surprised look back at him, Jean suddenly felt the need to turn down the apologies. His open mouth was silenced by the low squeak coming out of the other man’s mouth. “Man, it’s you!”

“Wait. Do I know you from somewhere?” Jean answered stiffly, doubting his way to an amicably addressing the unknown.

“Gee, wait a sec,” was all the other man said, waving a hand in front of his face and all the way above his head, smiling at the two uke teens coming right behind him. Already feeling tired of the whole “being professional” situation, he thought of adjusting himself to it once more. Maybe, the man was someone who had seen his ads about relatively cheap Music lessons. “Bro, you killed it the other day!”

“Are you talking to me or to the kid?” Jean asked unamused, staring down at the pair that looked like his siblings.

“Look, guys,” he pointed at him way too excited for his own good. As a result, he got a loud laugh from the girl and a stifled one from the boy. “This is him! The Amazing Kirschstein! Look at you, man!”

The Amazing… Shaking his head with a smile on his face, he linked his hands behind his back. Deep inside him, below the layers of uncertainty and the want to kill Connie on the spot, he felt flattered. Getting weird looks from the teenagers, he vowed to make the situation seem more normal to them and him. As Jean heard him go over his short career as a pub musician to explain his magnificence to the young people, he controlled himself not to come out too strong. Of all times to be worshipped, that one was certainly the worst. After a short introduction from his fan, stating that his name was Reiner Braun and that he and his boyfriend were huge fans, Jean smiled back at him not to leave him there, making a ridiculous mess out of himself.

“Come on, I’m just another guitarist,” he commented after listening to his enthusiastic review of his interpretations. “No need to be overly kind to me.”

“No need to be an ass to yourself,” Reiner bit back, sounding almost too harsh for Jean to stay there any longer. No one was allowed to say anything so private but Jean himself. After realizing how hard his comeback had sounded, the other man let the weight of his body fall on his right leg as he inclined his head apologetically. “Well – uh - Your weekend nights are appreciated. There were like two times we visited the pub and never found you there. I think the big crowd that attended the place went all crazy. I even complained to the owner himself! Bertl and I are glad you’re back!”

Laughing genuinely, Jean patted Reiner on the shoulder and thanked him for the support. Before parting ways, the tall, blonde man assured him to do his best to make Jean his siblings’ new Music teacher, getting quite a reaction from the pair who, up until then, had remained oblivious to their conversation, too lost in their thoughts to intrude. Looking down at his phone on the way to the bus stop, he couldn’t believe there was good and joy outside the North-facing, second-floor window of the Yeager’s house. Registering the new number under his fan’s name, he found himself running to catch the bus that was about to arrive there, avoiding the swarm of children that buzzed around him with their equally hurried families. Although he did not think he needed the help, he saved the number in case there was a need for a little push.

* * *

“You alright, pal?” He heard his father’s loud voice from the corner of the kitchen, his back against the friendly tone directed in his way.

“Yuh,” Jean answered, turning around with a frown as he bit on a baby carrot, “why wouldn’t I be?”

There had been multiple reasons for not being alright. Jean knew it was horrid of him not to let their parents know the details of something they deserved to get more than anyone else – more than him, even. Those last few days, covered in bed sheets whenever his family entered the bedroom, Jean had felt guilty for something that, for once, truly was his responsibility. Speaking of Marco’s death to Sasha and Connie had already been emotionally dreadful, and he wasn’t sure about how to deal with the same details getting out of his mouth for the third time in less than… well, enough time for him to do the mourning and feel better, or at least more sanely, about it. Staring at his parents, Jean did his best to deceive them; making them think he was just being his usual self, although they already knew he wasn’t, was the greatest effort he could make in that condition. Nevertheless, he knew that sooner or later he would have to face his parents and deliver the worse news; it was his duty as the big brother and their now only son. Stopping in his tracks, Jean breathed out a frustrated moan, which would’ve been taken for annoyance from an outsider’s viewpoint, yet it was the reflection of realization in his mind. Jean hated himself for being as much of a coward as Armin had been to him. What scared him the most about facing the truth and telling the truth was his fear of not being able to see Armin again in a Shakespearean manner. The musician just wanted some of it to go away, be it his love or his family’s resent towards the Yeagers. He knew none of it was possible in the short run, for the very thought of the young student kept him awake until the wee hours of the night and filled every dream he had in his remaining sleep hours.

“Well, you’ve just left home after being so many days in here, and you were not ill once!” his mother commented for a back-up, towering over him with the same frown he had inherited and put into use since very young. Passing him a celery and a knife, she intended to turn her back on him. “Miss Petra was so worried. Cut it for me, Jeanbo.”

“Sure, mom,” Jean replied agitated, staring somewhere else, his head facing north while his parents stood south. Cutting the vegetable swiftly yet careful not to slice any of his fingers, he thought of a believable excuse for what he was going through. Somehow, after his brother’s passing, Jean had not been able to lie to his parents again.

“And you’re so silent,” his father complemented the reasons for their questioning, making Jean snort. “Seriously. Where’s the loud moody kid I know?”

Jean kept the answer to himself and watched his parents walk around the kitchen from the corner of his eye. Finishing with the easy preparation, he passed the celery and knife on to his father, who worked together with Mrs. Kirschstein to get dinner ready. Standing up, suddenly feeling useless, he ran to the biggest kitchen counter in their home to get their supplies and laid the table before the meal would be ready. The conversation had died on his side, and only his parents were left to gossip about the neighborhood’s newcomers and how things were turning out to be calmer than expected at the police station. Mundane talk made Jean feel at ease with himself for a while as he mechanically put some glasses, cutlery and plates into place. Not realizing it, he heard his mother scold him for preparing a table for two, for which he apologized and answered he wasn’t having any dinner. Before leaving the room, Jean’s mother smiled at him, and it was one of her worst smiles in Jean’s opinion. It was the same smile she had had the day of the funeral, greeting visitors. It was the same smile she put on the first year without Marco. He knew it so well he could feel entirely reflected in such a meaningful gesture.

“Jean, you are hiding something from me,” she whispered in his ear, caressing the back of his neck as she did when he was caught in trouble. Jean realized that, somehow, she was not forcing him to let her in and tell her about his thoughts. She looked like she wasn’t in a hurry to know what was happening to him, so he acted accordingly.

Gulping loudly before continuing his ways out towards his room, he turned around, feeling more nervous than he’d been in a week, “Look, mom. I’ll just – I’ll tell you some other time.”

Jean’s promise was less audible than a whisper as his voice cracked. After seeing concern in his mother’s face, he was about to reply something about heart break, yet not in the real sense. Having watched so many teenage movies with young Marco Bodt, he felt more than ready to pull out an outstanding performance. When he was about to reply some lifeless comment, his phone started to ring in his jacket’s left pocket. As they nodded at each other, making the silent pact to eventually talk things through, Jean answered the call before he ran to his room. Letting himself fall on a recently made bed, courtesy of his caring mother, he checked the caller with an unknown feeling. Not seeing any names, it could’ve been anybody, and he wished for it to be Armin calling him to see each other again and just make up for all the damage done.

“Jean Kirschstein speaking,” he answered quickly, biting his lip not to sound too intrigued about the phone call.

“Hi. It’s Moblit Berner here, Rose’s headteacher,” Jean heard from the other side as he abruptly sat up, crossing his legs and pressing them tightly against each other. “As you may’ve noticed, today’s chat was more than sufficient for us to know you’re the most integral candidate out there. Shall we count on you from now on?”

Feeling his eyes water at the sudden change of events, Jean pressed his lips together not to let out any surprised noises. Internally regulating his voice pitch, he made an effort to talk back all the while he tried his best to have some composure and fix his posture.

“I am honored to be in touch with you again, Mr. Berner,” he replied, doing his best not to run down the stairs and hug his mother, who had been more than patiently attentive to all his complaints throughout the twenty or more interviews he had been in. “When would you require me to start?”

“Come on, Jean,” Berner answered, his soft laugh travelling through the line. “I’m not so much older than you. Please, just call me Moblit.”

“How about Wednesday –” Jean interrupted himself mid-question, doing his best to concede his interlocutor the treatment he’d requested. After a long pause, he spoke again. “…Moblit?”

“Wed sounds great! Tell Hanji I say hello. Please, feel free to run any errands for the post office any time after your morning lessons,” Moblit explained to him calmly enough for Jean to wonder how amazing someone in the education field could get to be.

As they hung up the call after wishing each other a great weekend, Jean let his eyes roam around the room. Letting his phone fall from his hand and onto the bed covers, he couldn’t help smiling widely. Opening his messaging app, he scrolled down to tap on the group chat he shared with Connie and Sasha just to tell them how lucky he had been. Getting a thousand congratulations in return, Jean suddenly felt hyped to deliver the news to Armin, yet something inside his chest made his heart freeze at the thought of him. He would have loved to share the joy of finally feeling competent enough with the blonde, yet his hopeful thoughts were darkened by the shadow of a consequence that, in his opinion, had come out as entirely unprecedented. Strictly speaking, Friday would be his last day of work for the postal service, and it would also mean that it would be the last day to be anywhere near Armin mandatorily. Hanging his head low, feeling the fabric of his shirt touch his chin, he closed his eyes and worked on his breathing. Leaving the post office would mean leaving Armin and any remote chance at fixing whatever they had. Visiting Up in the Air once a week would not make their relationship enough justice to work things through. Slapping his knees, Jean tried to keep himself controlled, the physical stimulus bringing him back to reality. Regardless of how much time he spent near the Yeager’s house, it had been proven that day that whatever they had would not be fixed. Unless, not until Jean dealt with his issues first and Armin approached him in a better state of mind. It had been the Literature student’s responsibility to keep the secret, but it also was Jean’s responsibility to have been done with mourning a couple of years back.

* * *

Getting back to Armin’s neighborhood for the last time in his mailman days felt awkward and suffocating at first. Leaving his bike in its common place, Jean hung the usually heavy bag on his shoulder and let it rest over his hipbone. Stretching before the start of his last day, he prepared himself to say goodbye to all the grannies and nice young mothers who had been kind to him in those few months together. Feeling ready to start his last walk around the place, he made the Yeager’s house his first stop. Not only had he wanted to bid Armin farewell, but he had also been carrying a reply letter from his grandfather that morning. Stopping by the fence surrounding the two-floor house, he let out his trademark yell.

“Envelope for Armin Arlert!”

Standing right there, in the middle of the empty street with the feeling of an equally empty stomach, Jean thought he could not have been any more vulnerable. Of all people, Armin had managed to get him out of his shell to do what he believed was right. Not in a million years would have Jean expected to be so upfront about his feelings towards one of Yeager’s accomplices. Letting all the air out of his lungs, he stared at the same window he had seen open the last time he had been there. Not seeing anyone similar to Armin show up through it, he waited for the door to open, resting a finger on the doorbell. On a second thought, he put it away for he would not have liked to confront Eren or have him anywhere near his view. The sound of the garden fence screeching made him jump in relief as he held on to the blue letter tighter than ever.

“Coming!” Armin’s high voice sounded behind the green wall whose leaves leaked through the fence’s openings. As he heard the heavy front door open before him, he swallowed to keep himself calm. Staring back down into Armin’s baby blue eyes, he had trouble remembering the original purpose of his visit. “Oh, hi.”

Armin looked much more mature with his new hairstyle, his bangs being the remaining look that brought back memories of a mistaken image of innocence. Taking two steps towards him, Jean extended his arm and whispered for him to take the missive. Not taking his eyes away from the younger man’s, he wondered how it was possible for Armin to have looked so otherworldly. His skin was silky was ever below the touch of his fingers, and the tinge of red in his cheeks no longer existed. Pale white replaced it brutally, suddenly making Jean feel cold.

“It’s from your grandfather,” Jean said, keeping his voice low.

“Thanks. Here’s two letters for you to deliver. My sister will make up for the pending pay on the weekend,” Armin replied, seemingly unattached to Jean despite how rehearsed the words sounded coming out of his mouth. Nevertheless, his customary way of speaking made Jean doubt ever going there.

Taking the letters in both hands, Jean stared down at them shily. Armin had never treated him as such. Examining the texture of the envelope paper, he realized there were different colors in both missives. One of them was blue, while the other was yellow. On the blue letter’s cover came up the name of Armin’s grandfather, written in gold with a handwriting style that brought him all the way back to kneeling by Marco’s grave, storing the memos inside his jacket’s pocket every single one of his visits. Checking the sender’s name and address scribbled on the back of it, he realized that the way Armin wrote was exactly the same as the one present in those short messages he took out of the marble block every single visit. Looking back at Armin with a shocked gaze, he stuttered his way to a reply. The other simply does not stare back, directing his eyes to somewhere far down the street. Struck as Jean was, he could not believe how many times Armin had been there for him, for them, for love.

With his mouth wide agape, Jean’s breath hitched as Armin spoke, “It’s got a tracking code this time, so you won’t need to detour from your usual route. I apologize about having given you a hard time for the previous one.”

“I won’t,” Jean said in a whisper, leaning into Armin’s space as he made the blonde man look up at him. “This is my last day as this neighborhood’s mail carrier.”

They remained in silence, Jean feeling Armin’s breath hit his neck from below. His crystallized stare was quickly engraved onto his memory as Jean noticed the inner fight which he suddenly put himself into. From an outsider’s point of view, Armin would’ve simply looked like he was thinking of an answer, yet Jean could certainly feel how troubled the student showed himself despite the layers disguising him as yet another random customer. Opening his eyes widely, he fought himself not to stare back at Armin’s face, his task remaining impossible as ever.

“It’s such a shame,” he heard the shorter one speak, coolly as he could though sentiment started to flow through every word. “You were as nice as Mr. Ackerman was. I do hope your leaving is good news to y –“

“Armin,” Jean cut him off, pointing at the names written on both letters. Shaking his head, he brought one hand up to his cheeks before letting tears trail down any further. “Is this your handwriting?”

“Yes,” the younger man replied as silently as Jean had been speaking to him. “As far as I’m concerned, I am the only person who writes to my grandfather in this house.”

Being frozen in his place, Jean cleared his throat to prevent more tears from running down. Avoiding Armin’s eyes, he let his fall and flipped the pastel yellow missive to find that it was not meant to be addressed to Mr. Arlert but to one Jean Kirschstein.

“So was it you then?” The musician took his turn to ask shamelessly, his eyes taking in every detail about Armin’s confused look. “The apologizer?” He went on with it, feeling shivers down his spine.

“Yes,” Armin replied with the same tone of voice as before, turning his back on Jean and walking back home. Watching him close the door in front of him, Jean stood there, speechless. Before he could say anything else to make Armin come back, he heard his last few words through the fence as he left him alone, stranded on the street where he lived. “I often am the one to apologize.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my friend Vidi for supporting me all the way through this. It's been great to engage in a multi-chaptered story. :-)


	15. melt your headaches. call it home.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean lets things simmer down. Armin and he find themselves in a funnily awkward situation.

Jean’s first months as a Music teacher were a delight, so much so that he guessed anyone in his position would’ve certainly felt privileged about it. Luckily for him, he taught teenagers with whom he instantly bonded over playing music. Jean had grown fond of the most musical learners he had met at Rose, and he was careful to plan his lessons to cover the most basic needs of every student while approaching the subject from a friendlier way. As theoretical as his work could get sometimes, Jean did his best to dedicate half their time to work on the music/personal interests relationship present in each of his students. Although he only saw each class twice a week, he was happy to be able to bring the wonders of what he loved to the developing minds of those kids. He also got the chance to have a relatively decent pay and number of teaching hours to make his account’s balance look much less miserable. Fortunately to him, being in touch with Reiner had given way to him sharing his therapist’s number in case Jean would consider starting the process himself. Based on his fan’s perspective of things, the professional had helped some of his friends go through a dreadful process together. Taking his word into consideration, Jean took his time to think of the offer, making some space in his busy daily schedule to give it a thought and open himself up to healing. One day, after all his colleagues had already left the school, he decided with shaky hands to text the number and see what would happen. He finally made the sum he needed to regularly attend psychology sessions without feeling guilty about his home expenses, and he had to admit that the weight of Marco’s death had loomed around him since his farewell to Armin.

Time slipped away like water through his fingers. Not minding his issues much, being busy as he dealt with administrative labor and practical work, his brain had turned into doing realistic, mechanical thinking. His sorrow never haunted him during working hours, which was something he felt extremely grateful for, yet it was the menace he had to fight against every night in bed or sitting near his desk. Many times, Mrs. Kirschstein had approached him in the little free time he had at home, but not even once had he brought up the topic himself. She insisted on being trustworthy enough for him to rely on, explaining that there was absolutely nothing a mother wouldn’t do for her child. Although she had the best of intentions, the persistent intrusions triggered something into Jean’s brain, and he was brought back to lamenting the current state of things after his one-month trial at work. The fact that every time she began the conversation, he quickly crafted his way out of it had already turned into a drag Jean just did not want to confront for her sake and, honestly speaking, for theirs. This issue had been complemented with the fact that, with all the work he had, he did not have the chance to visit Up in the Air as often as he would have wanted to. Connie and Sasha had contacted him many times, wondering when he would be back, and Jean had nailed it by arguing that the first months were always the most difficult in that job. Despite all those negative outcomes of such a fruitful situation, Jean did not waste his thinking. Every time he had some space to himself, he planned some efficient way out of his issues without specifically avoiding them, which he had come to realize that was something he was used to doing. It had been then that he decided to go for Reiner as some sort of moral support, the eye of his storm.

“Bro, I promise you,” Jean had heard the low voice through the phone as it said, “you won’t regret it. Dr. Leonhart knows a lot and has helped my friends _a lot_.”

“So should I, like, message her or–”

“Just do it,” Reiner had kept on trying to motivate Jean to start therapy, but the Music teacher had only felt more and more let down by the prospect of unfulfilled promises from the other man. “If you don’t like how it works with her, I’ll get you a different one myself.”

Then, right before attending their first session, sitting on a bench right outside the Music room, he went over all the details he would have to mention to her just to get an idea of the hole he was deep down into. Breathing in and out, feeling the warm air leak through his nose, Jean couldn’t help but feel a bit overwhelmed by the idea of embarking on such a journey. The feeling was not much different when he stood opposite the office’s door. The imperceptible tremor of his hands as he rang the doorbell betrayed him at the sight of cold and unreadable blue eyes. Bowing his head to greet the professional, Jean realized he wanted to surrender to fighting his destiny any longer.

* * *

The weekend after one of his appointments with Dr. Leonhart, Jean decided to visit Marco. After meeting Armin and spending more time with him, he had decided to devote less time to his brother as he considered it to be a healthier bargain. On a warm Sunday morning, Jean thought it best to let Marco know a bit more about his whereabouts and everything that had happened to him since his visit with Sasha and Connie. Nevertheless, from the first session with his psychologist onwards, he felt differently about his going back to Marco. Sitting by his grave did not feel like the only chance he would ever get to connect with the most relevant person in his life anymore. He had made it clear to the therapist that he was more inclined to thinking of it as a nice way of working introspectively all the while remembering family, and he had aimed at doing so for many years without any success. Right then, walking beside the great cemetery fence, his fingers lightly touching the metal bars as he went, Jean could tell something had changed, yet he couldn’t pinpoint what exactly it was. Maybe, it had been the weather; after all, Summer always got the best of him despite how much he hated it. Feeling the sunlight barely hit his face through the few spaces of the age-old, leafy trees, the Music teacher adjusted the straps of his guitar case and crossed the main entrance, waving hello at the guards beaming at him. He’d finally come back, and he soon realized it probably was one of the few times they had seen him genuinely smile… or at least try. God knew how hard it was for Jean to keep a friendly face.

Walking down a lane of unknown ancient souls and recently buried bodies, he admired the colorful displays of children’s tombs and the solemnity of those belonging to old people. Stepping on the dry, dirty ground, he turned right to take the path that led him to Marco every time. As he spotted a blonde person crouching opposite a small flowerbed on top of his brother’s grave, he took his guitar case in one hand to find some sort of balance. Jean tried his best not to make his feet sound loudly, which he achieved until he reached the side of the tinier person in front of him. He could have felt anger, yet his head was peaceful enough for him not to doubt his perception. Sitting cross-legged beside the man, he patted the marble block in front of them three times as if to greet Marco.

“Is Mikasa coming?” He asked after both of them fell entirely silent, admiring the absence of the person they had either known for a lifetime or not at all.

“It’s only me this time.” Jean heard a little voice reply as the young man next to him dared to look back. Focusing his hazel eyes on the moving gaze of a whole ocean, he sighed and waited for the other to continue speaking. “If it doesn’t bother you, I would like to stay this time.”

“You always stayed,” Jean replied simply, his words carrying the knowledge of a confession, yet not the heavy burden behind it. “What makes it any different now? Not that I’m complaining.”

“Many times–“ Armin began, seemingly stopping to rephrase what he’d been about to say, “I would’ve liked to be here. Thanks for letting me.”

“I’m sure Marco would love the company,” Jean whispered, letting his fingers graze over the engraved marble before him. Smiling to himself, he continued speaking, giving it his all not to hold back from what he felt. Of all places on Earth, that was the one where Jean would never hide. “Having an annoying, good-for-nothing brother finally brought him nicer input than just, you know, grumpy shit.”

Getting some laughter out of Armin made his heart feel lighter. After some weeks of not knowing what to do about their relationship, he felt at ease again. The day Armin passed him the letter, he’d made sure to turn his grandfather’s letter into the post people retrieving envelopes and packages meant to have arrived at the other office. Too late for him to do something about his mistake, he realized late at night that Armin’s yellow envelope was nowhere near him during the rest of the day. When he’d arrived at work earlier than ever the next morning, he did his best to clean up his workspace in an attempt to finally find it. Nevertheless, the letter wasn’t near him at all, and a couple of weeks after quitting his mailman job, Ms. Ral had called Jean to announce she had received a missive with his name and no address at all. Happily enough to him, she had made inhuman efforts to retrieve Armin’s message after so long; fortunately, the mailman from the other side of town remembered his name and contacted his office as soon as possible. Then in the cemetery, not having yet read any of the words Armin had meant to write to him and only him, Jean felt as if he owed an apology. Turning his head to look at the shorter man sitting beside him, the corners of his lips rising slowly, he took some minutes to wonder what the letter could have possibly conveyed.

“You never replied,” Armin’s voice resonated around them as though he had read his mind.

“It got lost,” he admitted, staying as true as possible considering the holy place he found himself in. “Ms. Ral, a colleague, went to the ends of the Earth to get it back.”

“That’s alright,” Armin nodded, doing his best to cover all the hurt in his eyes with a stiff smile. “If you ever read it, you could actually reply, I guess.”

“Of course,” Jean whispered, suddenly feeling out of breath at the other man’s politeness. Getting his hands rid of the mittens he had been wearing, the musician opened the guitar case to take Jam in his arms. Intrigued, Armin turned around to face him immediately as though the minor levels of respect for an artist had to be complied with. “I was gonna play something for Marco today, and I’ve just realized you’ve never heard me at my finest.”

“Your finest?” Armin asked as the wrinkles around his eyes turned up, a bright smile supplanting the straight line his mouth had formed just a few seconds before.

“This song was something Marco and I would play,” Jean admitted as he tuned his guitar. Humming a slow melody to himself, he tried his best to remember how the lyrics went. Watching Armin from the corner of his eyes, he could see the boy smitten with the subtle attempt at reconnecting with the song. “We were so excited back in 2012 when this was released. It must be one of Matchbox Twenty’s most underrated songs, but we always thought it was a masterpiece. Kyle and Rob always write the most amazing-“

Feeling as if he rambled too much and too at ease, Jean stopped himself to huff for suddenly being so comfortable around Armin. The young man had noticed his change in mood and smiled at him brightly as if what he’d been saying made him interested in hearing more about it. Jam ready to be played, a much less tense silence between them, Jean hung the guitar strap around his neck and fixed the instrument on top of his thighs. Counting up to four before he let his fingers move at the 6-note compass, he started playing the song calmly as he stared at the sky. Although he missed the sound of the piano backing him up, being able to play it again made him feel better about it all. Several nights, he’d tried to sing it to his audience in one of his “00s-underrated-classics-because-you’ve-been-too-busy-listening-to-random-Pop-shit” gigs, yet he had not been courageous enough to carry his task out as planned. Right there, next to the last person he’d expected to be with and in front of Marco’s tomb, he finally felt able to play and sing it like they used to. Lowering his gaze to catch Armin’s expression, he was struck with the realization that, once more, he was being too open, yet he felt grateful for feeling capable enough of getting in touch with his brother in a way that did not involve him crying or blaming the Yeagers for making his life a living hell. _If you go, take a little piece of me. Hang it by the place you sleep, and dream of me. Don’t leave._

Watching Armin being so close to him, close to bringing him to tears, he could only grant him a smile – a sincere one. Until then, Jean had often caught himself wondering how much his love had been struggling with issues that did not depend on him whatsoever. Armin had made it clear many times before that he had been the person making up for everything that Eren destroyed, and his case wasn’t any different. After some time without seeing each other, Jean could feel it all weighing more heavily on Armin’s shoulders, the burden having been seriously aggravated by the hurt of not even being able to say goodbye. Following that train of thought, the musician felt nothing but shame and regret, for it had never been the student’s fault – being the young person he was, of course, he would contemplate delaying their exposure to the truth. Though their being together felt much more different then, in the middle of the cemetery, it made him feel more relieved than not seeing each other at all. Jean knew his limits, and he also had a pretty advanced sense of what was right and wrong. Playing the part in which guitar and piano came in with no voices to be heard, he took some seconds to breathe deeply, feeling his eyes moist at the idea of singing out the last verses of the song. Feeling weightless after having held on to several regrets and painful memories for so long, he sang no louder than a whisper, lowering the volume as he strummed the strings and said the final words much more weakly. Finishing the song, he kept his eyes fixed on the flowerbed, vivid colors invading his sight as the wilted plants around it made it stand out much more.

“Thank you for letting me stay,” he heard Armin’s voice as the boy dried his tears with one of his jacket’s lapels. Unaware of how much he stared back, Jean rested an elbow on the waist of his guitar, one his hands serving him as a great support to continue looking at Armin. “It’s true. I’d never heard you at your best – not that what you do isn’t good enough, it’s just–“

“Thanks for coming,” Jean admitted, much more relaxed after hearing to the common hesitations interrupting Armin’s usual stream of thoughts. “How come you’re here today? Did you know I would be here?”

“I didn’t,” Armin replied almost immediately, his voice rising out of panic, “I never meant to interfere with your visit. I thought you’d be the one coming yesterday since you used to visit him most Saturdays.”

“Being a teacher is tiring,” Jean commented before giggling, putting his guitar back in its case. “I’ve done so much this week I actually couldn’t bring myself to get out of bed yesterday.”

Jean heard Armin hum in agreement, though he was sure the blonde felt pretty alien to the description of a job he would never take the chance to get involved in. Keeping the respectful silence they’d been in before, the musician took some time to communicate with Marco. He hardly ever decided to go and speak out what he was thinking in front of the tomb. Honestly, he had spent his time there talking to his brother in his head since he didn’t find any favorable purpose in letting the words out. Those, as many other things he wished had helped, wouldn’t bring Marco back either.

“I was meaning to send you something after I lost the letter,” Jean said, interrupting his mental monologue to turn around and face Armin once more. “I could never see Petra again, and there was no fucking way I’d leave it to my mom.”

Laughing out loud, no longer holding back as he noticed Jean himself wasn’t either, Armin’s eyes got wet for a reason that differed much from sadness. Secretly smiling to himself a few seconds, he raised his head not to avoid Jean’s gaze. “Say it to me now,” Jean heard him demand kindly despite the strength of his words. He knew how much Armin could’ve been fighting his inner self to get the words out.

“The beauty of writing will be lost,” the Music teacher warned amiably, smiling for both of them. Thinking back to the day he wrote the letter in an attempt to get the gist of the message, he gulped loudly, the raised corners of his lips suddenly falling.

“Go ahead.”

“Maybe, I shouldn’t have,” he started, hugging his legs and pressing his chin to his knees, “I was merciless, and you weren’t at fault. For lying, sure, but not for anything else. All that time, I take it you kinda wanted to keep me safe from afar. I’m sorry, Armin, for not having understood.”

“I wasn’t sure how you’d react to all that. I wish I had told you earlier.”

“I’m glad you didn’t,” Jean stopped him, sounding way too loud for his own sake, “or else I wouldn’t have been able to be with you that long and share all those things with you. I just need to let it all out now, and I’m truly sorry I couldn’t make a better partner.”

“You were the best,” Armin whispered, caressing his left upper arm slowly, almost empathetically. “I wouldn’t have asked for anything else.”

“I’m– I’m certain you’re young and free to do what you want, but–“ Jean cut himself off, avoiding Armin’s bright eyes, “I can’t do it now, love. I will understand if you move on and meet someone else. You, of all people, deserve to be the happiest one out of all this.”

Hearing his interlocutor breathe in loudly enough for him to leave his self-destructive thoughts, Jean raised his head from his knees to take a real look at Armin’s face. Although tears streamed down his eyes, he was wearing the same smile that was so typical of him.

“You’re young, and you’ve been caged for so long,” Jean continued, brushing his hair with one hand. If he was to lose Armin forever, he would at least let him know how much he appreciated him. “I can’t bring myself to be the person you love. I need to look after myself. You know how wrong I’ve been this whole time, probably more than anyone else.”

Deeply inside, Jean wished for Armin to promise him forever, to say he would wait for him until they could be in a healthy relationship. As he stared into baby blue eyes, he hoped for the other to say it would all be alright. He longed for reassurance and the idea that love always won. Yet, instead, Armin’s slow nod proved him that life went on and that he would need to start making his go on as well.

* * *

“So, Jean, you’ve told me a lot about you,” Jean heard his therapist say in front of him as she sat on what looked like a comfortable blanket. “Now, I need you to tell me where you’d like to start. That doesn’t mean you’ll be neglecting other areas to be improved. We just – you know, we need to get moving.”

“Sure, yeah, my objectives.” Jean hadn’t worked on those that week. As much as he’d wanted to devote some time to self-reflection, he hadn’t been able to concentrate well enough. Feeling pained by the fact he was falling behind in his process made him depressed. “I wouldn’t know where to start.”

“So you didn’t think about them?” Annie said after a long sigh, massaging the center of her brow with two long fingers. Smirking, she continued, “What should I do? What do _you_ do when a student doesn’t turn in their homework?”

“Give them another chance?”

“How am I supposed to believe that?” Annie counterattacked from her seat, laughing to herself at how ridiculous Jean’s excuse had sounded. 

“But hey, wait, I still can get to say something,” Jean replied hurriedly, holding out both hands in front of him, already admitting his defeat. “What I do know is that I need to get rid of this crush and just focus on what’s more important right now.”

“Everything that happens to you is important, Jean.”

“But I know I won’t be able to be in better conditions if I continue focusing on how much I want to be with Armin,” Jean gruntled, holding his head with both hands. “This is awfully hard. My head goes back to him as if it were its duty or something.”

“There’s no need to forget him,” Annie started, scribbling down some ideas foreign to Jean’s basic understanding of psychology. “Jean, look at me. OK, that’s better. Hey, did you know some people actually never forget their crushes?”

“You sure?”

“Don’t waste energy, Jean,” Annie advised him, nodding her head as she continued, “Use it to guide you to what your real objectives are… which, of course, you still need to think about.”

“I saw him a couple of weeks ago. I never dreamed of seeing him there. We were in the cemetery, visiting Marco–“ Jean stopped himself to sit down properly once more, his back stuck to his armchair’s back pillow. “You know, we were getting closer to Marco’s death anniversary. I always used to go there one week before the official date so I wouldn’t have to see Mom and Dad suffering about it, too.”

“And he was there?” Annie asked, her eyes glued to her notebook still. “How come?”

“Bad timing – or good. By now, I don’t know anymore,” Jean replied sounding entirely tired, his eyes roaming around the room as he tried to avoid the memories of that morning.

“You sound like something happened.”

“I apologized,” Jean said, not feeling convinced enough by the course of action he had decided to follow. “I also told him I needed to focus on myself. Gee, now I feel so confused. Should I have told him that?”

“What drove you to punch Eren?” Annie simply said, smirking back at Jean, who was internally screaming for his therapist not to be playing tricks on him. “So?”

“Well, how could I _not_ have punched my brother’s murderer when he was in front of me?” 

“Wow, such a long sentence,” Jean heard Dr. Leonhart huff, writing down some other things before she raised her head to look back at him again. “Of course. I probably would’ve done the same, but… Is there any other reason?”

Caught back by the question, Jean tried to go over it in his head to no practical answers. Although Annie decided to tackle other areas to be worked on, giving Jean some ideas about plausible objectives, he kept on thinking about a truthful response. When the session finished, Jean did his best to assure his doctor that he would bring the therapy notebook with him the following week. Being teased again about not doing his homework, Jean scratched the back of his neck, feeling ashamed though a warm feeling pooled in his stomach. That day, Dr. Leonhart gave him extra homework, telling him to write a letter to Eren. Jean had imploded at first, asking her to have some mercy, though he later felt stupid as she clarified he did not have to send the letter to his misery’s perpetrator. Saying goodbye to her much more relieved, he closed the office’s door behind him without making any noises, a small smile resting on his lips. Every time he visited Annie, he got to feel like he was properly listened to and felt glad about receiving all kinds of feedback about his progress. He knew there still was a long way to go, but he would have to narrow it down to a few aims before getting things done for real.

* * *

Waiting for the bus to turn around the corner of the avenue and get to his stop, Jean plugged in his earphones and put them on, listening to loud Descendants songs. As the bus came to a stop in front of him, he rushed to climb the few steps and wished the driver a good evening, bowing his head and hurriedly walking to one of the free seats at the back. Watching the world go by outside his window, Jean felt his phone vibrate on his belly, some default noise erupting in his ears. Cringing, Jean took his earphones out and answered the phone call.

“’Sup, Jean here. Who’s this?”

“Bro, don’t you have my number?” Jean heard Reiner’s voice from the other side of the line, accompanied by the laughter of a group of people. “Anyway. Whatever. I’ll ask you about it later.”

“Hey, Braun, long time no see!”

“Yo, I was wondering if you’d like to come over to Up in the Air?”

“I’m not playing there until tomorrow, dude,” Jean assured him, remembering that the last time he had messed up with Connie’s schedules, things had turned out to be a mess. Not only because of Armin’s confession, of course. “Why the hurry, though?”

“We don’t want your gigs, man,” Reiner laughed loudly, and Jean heard something that seemed to be Bertholdt trying to make him speak much more quietly. “I was wondering if you could come with us. Today, we’re celebrating that one of our hoes is finally moving homes! I thought breathing some fresh air would do you good?”

“Well, sure,” Jean replied, considering how long he had been trapped by the never-ending amount of workload. Staring at his feet, weighing his chances, he thought having a night out wouldn’t affect the way things were. “Alright. I’ll come to visit you for a bit. Does your friend mind it if I am with you guys?”

“Nah,” Reiner blurted out immediately, sounding overconfident about another person’s opinions and mindset. “The kid’s just fine. He’s so cool with everything that you’ll easily have him talking back to you. He’ll just need some time to think, but that’s how he is. Lord knows I’ve tried to shake things up a bit, but it’s never worked. Ow!”

“Shit. Looks like you’re literally the worst,” Jean bit back a laugh, staring out the window again with a big smile on his face. “OK, good. I’m in. What time?”

“We’re here already. We’re missin’ you already, bae.”

“I’m on my way,” Jean snorted loudly before hanging up. Covering his mouth not to bother the people next to him, he realized he’d already made things uncomfortable enough for the grannies surrounding him. Eyeing them for an apology, he plugged his earphones in and went into incognito mode for the rest of his journey, barely moving his head to replicate the rhythm of the songs he felt like listening to. 

The ride down the avenue to the streets near Up in the Air remained calm and not as busy as other days. That Friday, Jean had decided to prolong his stay at school to finish pending administrative work. After being ready with the million signatures to be put in every class book, he had locked up the Music room and headed back out into the chilly streets near the school. As much as he had meant to get home and rest for a bit, he felt excited about hanging out with Reiner and Bertholdt since they had recently grown closer. Being in charge of the Monday Music workshops, he started spending more time with Falco and Gabi, Reiner’s siblings, and probably, the most talented kids at that school. Having to stay at school any longer had given both adults the chance to interact more when Reiner went to get both teens before going home. Despite their many encounters and weekend calls, never had they ever had the chance to spend time together without leaving their roles behind. As Jean got off the bus, he loosened his tie and unbuttoned his collar, feeling the evening air get down his shirt, relaxing his tense muscles after a hectic day. As the red lights turned into bright green, he crossed the avenue carelessly, making his way north until he reached the bar’s entrance. Watching Connie talk to someone by the drinks area, he raised his hand to wave at his friend until he saw there was someone else keeping him company, Sasha creeping up from where the rum compartment was. After hugging both of them hello, he made his way into the venue, the cadenced movement of his hips following the beat of the music being played through the speakers. Perceiving the vivid brightness of the LED lights near the place he was used to taking for a stage, he found a massive group of around fifteen people hanging out in one of the booths. Smiling as he spotted Reiner and Bertholdt, he waved at them while he waited for recognition to cross their faces. As Bertholdt waved back at him, he saw how his elbow gently pushed Reiner aside. Shaking his head, the blonde man stood up to greet Jean with a friendly handshake and the musician suddenly felt the need to check who he had to congratulate on their moving homes.

“Who’s the lucky one? I might as well say hi to them first!”

“My boy ‘Min!” Reiner yelled over the loud music playing over the murmurs of the different conversations taking place in the group. As Jean was about to ask for the person’s full name, he heard what probably was his favorite voice in the universe call Reiner back, asking him about what he needed. Locking eyes, Reiner being present as ever and watching them interact, Jean’s mouth fell open in surprise.

“Really?” He’d wanted to whisper to himself since his breathlessness was more than just an understatement. Although he knew the Literature student had not heard his comment at all, he caught in his eyes that he had already understood his surprise. Armin himself seemed taken aback very similarly. Not taking his eyes off Armin, he realized Mikasa was also there, looking back at him apologetically. Scanning the group of friends, he found no signs of Eren ever being there and directed his eyes back at Reiner, acting as if he didn’t know the lucky guy to move out of his house. Noticing that not only Reiner and Mikasa were staring back at him, he cleared his throat and took a look at Armin’s eyes one last time, noticing how much they were shining, though not weirdly so. Sleeping on it, he looked back at Reiner as if he hadn’t just gone over the times they spent in that neighborhood, early mornings and lazy afternoons flashing through his mind.

“Hey, we were just saving this seat for you, Jean,” Bertholdt interceded while Armin turned around to face Mikasa, who was seemingly telling him something really important – important enough for Jean not to hear. “You can sit here, next to Armin, so you can ask him the details if you want.”

“Thanks, man,” Jean bowed his head as Mikasa stood up and left their table. Having Armin stand up and point towards his seat, he realized it would be a long night.

Jean asked him for permission before sitting between Bertholdt and his lover. As a response, Armin just nodded his head quickly as he tried to stifle a laugh. Sitting there, suddenly feeling all alone by the presence of his friends and the boy whom he wasn’t supposed to know, he started listening to Reiner tell him facts about how much Armin had finally come to grow into a man and just take care of himself. His insides twisted at the statement about the blonde boy being incapable of doing so up until then, and Jean wanted to clear out that Armin was, first of all, the most capable of doing such a thing if he compared the three Yeagers. Nevertheless, he decided it would be best to shut up about it and, instead, kept playing his role right.

Turning his head to speak to the person sitting to his left, he spoke loudly enough for both his friends to know what he was saying. “So when are you moving out – uh, Armin was it?”

“Yeah,” he got Armin to reply, doing his best not to laugh. “It’s next week… Jean, right?” Armin finished off, eyeing him with a playful smirk. Of all things, the last one he needed was to be involuntarily flirting with the one that couldn’t be.

Despite the slightly uncomfortable situation, Jean felt happy about Armin freeing himself from Eren’s senselessness. Smiling broadly, he let his back rest on his seat as he scanned the group once more. If he thought about it, it made sense for Eren not to be there that night, and he was grateful for it. Probably, the boy had not approved of Armin’s sudden resolve to leave the Yeagers, and he hadn’t intended to participate in any kind of celebration either. Turning his head to say something to Reiner, Jean caught the older man looking at Armin, yet he saw Gabi and Falco’s brother let his eyes roam around the moment Jean stared back at him as if he hadn’t been staring. Surprised by his friend’s reaction, Jean thought that Reiner could’ve possibly reacted that way because a) He thought Jean had a crush on Armin or vice versa. What he didn’t know, though, was that b) He did have a crush; c) His crush liked him back, but d) They weren’t meant to be together. Also, e) Right there, they were supposed not to know each other. Regardless of how subtle they had tried to be around each other, Jean was suddenly hit by Reiner practically yelling at him to go after Armin’s ass.

“This guy could be a star,” the older man told him, winking intently. “You should totally teach him private lessons.”

Shocked by Reiner’s insinuation, Jean turned his head to look at the rest of the people in the group, watching Armin from the corner of his eye from time to time. When he saw Mikasa appear from the other side of the room, he was interviewed by some girls sitting opposite him. Quickly enough for him to recover his energy, he had to go over some details about being a Music teacher while both women asked him questions about the kids and the learning environment in times of advanced technology. As he heard Armin speak to Mikasa over his shoulder, he lost all concentration when his eyes met Connie’s, who had brought napkins to their table and looked like he needed an explanation. Blinking twice back, Jean mouthed an apology, and Bertholdt asked Connie if he happened to have any menus around. Laughing awkwardly, his friend promised the tallest man in their group that he’d bring them some when he got them from the second floor. Before leaving, Jean directed a pleading look at Sasha’s boyfriend, getting no looks back.

“What have you been up to?” Armin whispered next to him, tugging at his elbow to pay him some attention. Turning his head to face the blonde boy again, he instantly felt relieved. Armin was just acting as a distraction. Picking up on the pretending part and doing as if he wasn’t hurting then and there, Jean shrugged his shoulders and asked him the same question in return. Shying away from a proper answer, he gets Armin to speak a bit about what he had been doing as prior preparations. 

Jean did not have many vantage points, but his hearing was a blessing to him. While he listened to Armin talk about college and house-hunting, he could hear Reiner whisper something to Bertholdt about having Jean make a move on Armin. From what he could get, they thought their friend had been feeling down lately, and a new “friend” would have probably come in handy to ease Armin’s worries. Trying not to laugh at the irony of their being there, together yet apart, he told Armin how glad he was about him starting over again. He might as well have at least supported Armin on his decision because he wasn’t sure himself how much patience Armin had had to bear with someone like Eren Yeager. From the other table corner, he could feel Mikasa watching him as if trying to decipher his intentions, though that only left Jean wondering about how come she was there when she had shown herself so supportive towards Eren. Still, siblings were siblings, and it showed that Mikasa and Armin’s relationship was as important. Although Jean continued chatting with Yelena and Pieck, the two college kids who had taken an interest in his job, he kept on listening to Mikasa as she covered Armin’s hands with hers and asked him if he was doing, at least, relatively well. After that, he cannot hear the rest of her speech, yet Jean can feel Armin stiffen beside him, which only gets worse when Mikasa is wrapping her scarf around her neck and waving goodbye at everyone else. As she made her way out, Jean stared at Armin questioningly, not being able to get a word out of his mouth. 

Karaoke night starts, and the college kids over there make it their main aim to have a fun Punk-Rock night. Luckily for Jean, he was an expert, so he did not feel left out on the challenge. Watching the women before him stand up to grab a pair of microphones, he was pleased by their choice of song and prayed for them to sing decently enough. Sitting as serious as businessmen in a tense meeting, Armin and Jean found themselves sitting next to each other with the impression that they would eventually be asked to go and sing something. Trying not to look too much into each other’s eyes, they watched Armin’s friends perform _Why we Ever_ by Hayley Williams. Grinning, Jean heard to first notes of the song and started humming to himself as he enjoyed the surprisingly talented singing of both women. He knew the song, and he loved it; therefore, it was almost inevitable for him to tap his fingers on the table, following the rhythm. Realizing he let go of his insecurities, he was caught by Armin’s amused look, which had not left his face since the song started. Knowing their game could be played by him as well, as the song got to the chorus, he sang clearly and loudly enough for Armin to be able to hear his voice among the others, moving his head from side to side. In return, ocean eyes blinked back at him as rosy cheeks made them great company, a speechless Armin sitting nervously next to him by then. 

After the song ended, Jean clapped loudly and cheered for the girls’ singing. Turning his head to face Bertholdt, Armin told him how good of a Hayley Yelena sounded like, getting agreement signs from everyone in the group. Facing Jean again, seeming overexcited and oblivious to their context, the musician heard the blonde boy speak happily.

“Ain’t that so?” Armin asked him, shaking his left knee with a hand, an enormous smile being formed by his pale lips. Suddenly feeling closer to him than ever, it looked like the student had long forgotten that they had been faking not to know each other.

In response, Jean just went with it, commenting on his own before the singers sat opposite them. Shrugging again, fondly smiling back at Armin, he said, “yeah – They also look like they really dig each other.”

Of all possible things he could’ve felt that night, Jean let the coziness and warmth of their relationship invade him. He cherished spending the evening with Armin in such a different context to the one they were used to. Looking back at Armin, he realized they had never had the chance to be around each other under peaceful circumstances that didn’t involve eventual doom. As both men kept pretending they were just getting to know each other, which seemed like a poetic way of re-establishing a bond to Jean, his thoughts were interrupted by the voices of some of Armin’s friends asking for another duet. Not feeling confident enough to go up the stage, Jean shook his head, disappointed about Reiner’s insistence despite knowing how much of a perfectionist Jean was when it came to music.

“Sorry. I’ll have to turn down your offer, guys. I don’t even have my guitar with me.”

“I can,” Armin rose from his seat before anyone would protest, and all his friends cheered for him to delight them with a performance. Praying for him not to ruin the night choosing another HSM hit, he turned his head to Bertholdt, who looked at him with a strange glimmer in his eyes.

“Armin is a great singer,” he heard him say over the noises made by the microphone touching Armin’s hand. “We always have lots of fun, and he knows so many songs, it’s impressive.”

Not being the one used to listening, Jean sat there in silence, watching Armin sitting around in the middle of the tiny karaoke stage. He had been fast enough to choose a song, so by the time Jean turned his head, he was ready to start singing as he waited for everyone to stop cheering him on so loudly. Before his soft, soothing voice came the beat of a drum which marked the start of Maroon 5’s _Won’t Go Home Without You_ , leaving Jean dumbfounded at such a great choice. The karaoke version itself sounded terribly wrong in Jean’s humble opinion, yet something about Armin’s voice made it special and much more meaningful than the original. As the hit reached the chorus, everyone at the bar started singing with Armin, making him rely on the rest’s voices as he dared to look back at Jean.

_Hard to believe that it’s not over tonight, just give me one more chance to make it right. I may not make it through the night; I won’t go home without you._

Getting his hair slightly pulled from behind, he felt Reiner’s strong hand poke the nape of his neck, wiggling his eyebrows wordlessly. Raising a finger to place it mid-lips position, he made Reiner go quiet just so that they could enjoy the rest of Armin’s performance. More than once, Jean would’ve wanted to join Armin in his singing just to feel connected to him in a way they’d never been before, yet he restrained himself from being too evident. As the short man finished his song and everyone clapped their hands in delight, Jean elbowed Bertholdt when Armin sat next to him.

“You know what? With a voice like his, I may consider teaching instruments instead!” As he made his friends laugh, he felt a pair of fingers pinching his upper arm through the shirt he had been wearing, making Jean look back at the other person beside him. Wearing a pair of big, menacing eyes in their “shut-the-fuck-up” splendor, Jean found Armin looking at him and fell silent, a smirk never leaving his mouth. 

They spent the rest of the evening similarly, exchanging glances and engaging with other people’s conversations to avoid getting themselves caught. By the time most of Armin’s friends were wasted enough to fall asleep, the sober ones in the group decided to call it quits as they rearranged the seats back into their original places. Just as they were about to leave, Jean made sure to thank his friends for the invitation before they left Armin behind, who stood near the musician as he was about to leave. Feeling lovestruck as ever, Jean bowed his head when the college student stood by the other side of the entrance, staring back at him to say his goodbyes. Although his _“We can’t be friends”_ quote resonated inside his mind, smacking him right on the face, he managed to watch Armin stand before him. With a troubled look in his eyes, he decided to wait for the younger man to say anything first, yet it suddenly felt like Armin got the message and understood his way of thinking.

“I know,” the Literature student said before bowing his head, marking the end of his response as a smile never left his lips. Nothing could’ve possibly stopped him from showing the other man how much in love he was, except Bertholdt’s loud voice calling for Armin to keep them company. Watching Armin jump and wave goodbye at him, he felt at a loss for words and internally cursed Reiner’s boyfriend for being so oblivious about everything.

“Cut the crap, Kirschstein,” an extremely different voice said as Jean turned around to face Sasha and Connie. They were furious, and Jean understood the many reasons behind their anger. As to try and get them to process the situation he was in, he tried his best to explain everything to them fruitlessly. No matter how much he would insist on his ignorance about Armin’s friends, his own remained immovable and inflexible to what seemed like lousy excuses.

“This also goes against your treatment,” he heard Connie add with a small voice, patting Jean’s shoulder as if reminding him of how much he’d been hurting. As effective as that device could’ve been most days, that night, Jean felt guilty, yet he couldn’t have cared less about himself because Armin was finally leaving the shithole behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song that Jean plays and sings in front of Marco's tomb is called "I Will" by the astonishingly talented band Matchbox Twenty. I am so glad to finally have him go Rob-Thomas style!
> 
> Also, thanks, Armin. You nailed it. Smart as ever.


	16. i spilled too many tears, and i think i deserve to be alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Armin says his goodbyes and greets his most awaited desire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title was taken from Lizzy McAlpine's To the Mountains. I recommend listening to it because of the chapter's vibes.

Jean’s hair had grown a bit longer, and the hair that usually stood out above his brow was covering part of it, forming a sort of last-minute, wholly-improvised fringe. He remembered there being huge bags under his eyes as he had observed the musician walk towards him at an awfully slow pace. None of the changes in him or his attitude of surrender made him stop after the nod. Armin had pretended to get the message though, deep inside, he’d wanted for Jean to give their relationship a second chance, to give something to him to hold on to. When Armin had realized he would not get anything close to what he wished for, taking the other’s head with both of his chilly hands, Armin had planted his lips on Jean’s while the feeling struck him as entirely natural. He had never meant to have his first kiss and first kiss goodbye with the same person, yet there he was after Jean had lowered his guard vulnerably. Thinking of the place where they were, Armin had intended to kiss him short and quick, coming back to his senses. Nevertheless, when Jean’s arm forced his body to remain the same, the younger man couldn’t help but follow the other’s demand. Armin felt their noses nuzzle and bump lightly, completely unintentionally, as Jean deepened the kiss in what seemed like an attempt to get some kind of intangible souvenir out of their short time together. Understanding immediately, Armin had let his arms fall only to hold on to Jean’s shoulders carefully. He didn’t intend to damage his lover in any other way than the one he already had.

He remembered the accident would have easily been prevented if Eren had had some kind of support. However, Dr. Yeager had always been reluctant to have either himself or his son receive any sort of treatment after his spouse’s death. Carla Yeager had died by the time Eren was about to turn sixteen, and it wrecked him to take part in his mother’s death, giving it his all to reanimate the dead woman with the scarce knowledge he had of first-aid treatment. Shortly after Armin had received his call, he remembered fleeing Bertl’s home to assist Eren in his mission to save their mother, though the hurting hit him as he opened the door to Eren resting on top of a wide-eyed Mrs. Yeager. As her lifeless body rested on the kitchen floor, Armin had done his best to get Eren off it, pushing him away several times to calm him down before letting his own pain subside. He always remembered it as the first occasion in which he postponed his feelings and thoughts to keep his brother safe. The many years to come under Armin’s tutelage had been the worst for both as the emerald-eyed teen lost control of his life. Dr Yeager neglected Eren’s mental health as a top priority just to avoid the troubles of having to abide by the truth of his only son being mentally unstable. No one in the whole state would approve of his duty as the people’s representative when he couldn’t even bring himself to take care of his son, so the deputy had been clear to avoid any connections to him and moved out as a face-saving act. Being left in charge of a home filled with underage broken souls, Mikasa had taken the lead to keep both her brothers safe. Armin had always been eager to reflect upon such a deal with her, though she always avoided doing so with the excuse that he might as well move on as soon as he could.

At the age of eighteen, on the night of his birthday, Eren had lost his mind at their friends’ surprise party. As Armin wasn’t used to bonding over alcohol and drugs, he hadn’t attended it in order to maintain some peace of mind. However, after all those years, he still regretted his decision. Most likely, if he’d come along, Eren wouldn’t have been allowed to drive, and Jean wouldn’t have suffered such a tragic loss. That night, of all the people at the party, Eren had been the soberest one, the last man standing. He had made sure to throw some of his friends’ stinky bodies on the backseat before he buckled his seatbelt and began driving home. Armin and Mikasa had always told Eren off for letting rascals like them stay the night at their house since, to begin with, those were friends of his and his alone. Mikasa had made it clear many times before, yet she just limited herself to sleep with Armin every night Eren had brought the unwanted company over. The cherry on top, his birthday marked the death day of an innocent teenager who stood outside his house, helping his mother clean their house’s garden before the morning dew would come. Running his car over the sidewalk, the front of Eren’s old car had crashed on to Jean’s brother until it hit the tree behind him. From what Armin had been told by Eren’s infamous friends later on, the scream of pain of the boy had been his last chance at breathing before his body couldn’t respond anymore. It had been a screech that awoke all of the people lying behind Eren as he fled the scene, leaving a boy of a similar age to the one they’d run over chasing their car. As much as he’d tried to get them, Eren had told Armin that there was a point in which he couldn’t continue running and just let himself fall. Back then, Armin had hurt for the loss of an unknown person, but when his lips touched the Music teacher’s in the freezing morning, it made his heart wrench even more.

Giving Jean the last pecks on the lips and tip of his nose, Armin had stood up from the cold, grassy ground to start his way back home.

* * *

Armin’s eyes roamed around the room for the last time. Being honest to himself, he could easily admit that house had not been a home to him since shortly after meeting Jean. He had had plenty of good times there, but that house had recently just turned out to be the shelter of all his lies and all their mistakes. It wasn’t strictly necessary for him to leave their home; one way or the other, they could’ve worked it out. What happened to him was that he did not want to fix things for anybody. He’d always been the glue and, for once, he desired to be the scissors cutting such a dreadful tie. He would surely visit from time to time, he told himself in his sleep, but he wasn’t strong enough to keep it up. He knew deep inside that, one day he would have to choose, and his heart was Jean’s. There was no mistaking it. As he picked up the last of his boxes to put in the huge moving truck waiting for him outside, he remembered the most important reason why he had decided to flee Yeager’s daily life. Things had not developed peacefully after the secret was revealed, and both had had one fight after the next, getting to a point of no return in terms of the usual balance of their relationship. One night, after holding back for almost two weeks, Armin and Eren had found themselves doing the house chores before Mikasa’s arrival. Both had been quite calm around each other after Armin got back from college, but something inside his mind clicked that afternoon. Biting his lips to prevent a bitter comment from slipping away, he had looked back at Eren, realizing he had been observed for too long. It was then that Armin realized he hadn’t stared Eren in the eye since the incident; he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Nevertheless, it wasn’t out of the guilt he was used to feeling but pure anger. Although it was not his style to take it out on others, it was in his DNA to explode after avoiding conflict for a prolonged period. All his friends believed he was the perfect embodiment of a Scorpio, but he refused to believe in such senseless things.

Armin understood why the accident had happened in the first place, yet the realization of Eren never taking responsibility for his wrong-doing left him red in the eyes. His vision had turned blurry as he pushed Eren down with all his strength, reminding himself of all the reasons he’d had to finally get some revenge. Nevertheless, as the leather couch sounded below Eren, he thought of how stupid he was being, forcing his brother onto furniture without any further attempts at causing a commotion. He had just stood there in silence, his eyes piercing Eren’s as a threat before yelling for dear life. Half his brain cheered for him to go on and attack his brother mercilessly, yet he had restrained himself as he told Eren about his worries quite mechanically. As a sort of response, Yeager had smirked at him entirely offensively, apparently not caring enough about his brother’s feelings because of the outcome.

“How many times am I supposed to cover for you?” Armin had asked, pissed off as he would, flexing his fingers tensely as to stop himself from turning his hands into fists.

“Well,” Eren had sighed in response, staring back up as he lay sprawled on the couch, “that’s what siblings should do… right?"

Armin was well known for being a patient human being, so when the first fist had landed on his brother’s face, his knuckles brushing the other’s cheek roughly, he knew that was it. He would have to leave for good, or else his life would turn out to be even worse. Holding back tears, Armin took some steps back, hitting his leg with the small table laying in the middle of their living room. As rational as he had always been, he had never expected himself to turn his fury towards Eren. Trying not to have eye contact, he had quickly scanned Eren’s face as realization dawned on him, the news suddenly becoming too obvious for even Eren to predict. Holding nothing but a heavy box in his arms, the Literature student stepped outside the place that had been his for a more than a decade and bowed in front of it in utter relief. If it was time for him to leave, he might as well have said his goodbyes before departing. Handing the box to Mikasa, who loyally held his bike as she stood next to the fence, he proceeded to take the maneuver in both hands and feel the cold metal and rubber under his touch. The last time he had ridden that bicycle had been with Jean, which was a thought that led him to stare mindlessly at the park. That was the last time he would be able to watch the park from afar, wondering when Jean would arrive. That was the last time Armin would have the pleasure of remembering their tours around the block or awkward conversations when they were getting to know one another. As Mikasa patted his arm, he turned around to hug her tightly, silently thanking her for all the patience and love she had always had for him.

“I’ll see you at uni, alright?” she simply said, and Armin was as surprised as he usually was around her. Although her comments were minimal, she had the skill to make them all the more meaningful.

“You’re always welcome,” Armin replied in a whisper, letting go. “We aren’t even far from each other.”

Getting a quick nod from his sister, Armin got on his bike and started pedaling, keeping some distance from the truck that remained near him. Waving at Mikasa for a last goodbye, he smiled to himself as he and the person driving in front of him followed a similar route to the one Jean was used to working with. Smiling to himself, he can’t bring himself to entirely believe that there was freedom in letting go. In another life, his relationship with the musician would have probably worked, yet the way things were then was not less perfect than that. He had always wished to be independent, and finally having some control over his life left a part of his disappointment behind. He would have to live for himself and no one else from then on.

* * *

_Annie, how are you?_

_Armin! How are things? Any news?_

Smiling to himself from the bedroom floor, his legs and arms wide open as a ton of books and papers surround him, the blonde boy let his phone rest on top of his chest. "News" was definitely an understatement.

_Do you have an appointment now? Can I give you a call?_

Armin felt his stomach vibrate, his phone making his rib cage dance before he picked it up. Checking the caller ID, he gave it his all not to grin at the screen. It had been a long time since the last time he’d seen Annie – close to three months if he thought about it. The last time he’d visited her, he was facing the trials and tribulations of getting to an accurate description of the truth without breaking Jean down so much. He noticed how much had happened in such a short time and greeted his therapist on the line.

“Gee, Annie, it’s been a lot to deal with,” Armin began as he exhaled abruptly. “I told him, he hit Eren, he told me we couldn’t keep it up.”

“Well, that was obvious,” Annie commented, making Armin hum in agreement. “So? What have you been up to so far?”

“Annie, wait,” Armin giggled nervously, raising his voice to get her attention back. “Don’t skip any parts yet. We’ve met twice.”

“Oh,” he heard her say, and Armin could’ve sworn that her eyebrows were furrowed by the classical tone of doubt and confusion in her voice. “How so?”

“I saw him a week before Marco’s anniversary. He let me stay, he played a song, and I kissed him. Not that it was anything out of this world – it was the way we had to say goodbye.”

“Wait, but _you_ skipped the other time.”

“No, not at all!” Armin exclaimed, holding a hand up as if talking to her in person. “Look, later we realized we had some friends in common. Reiner invited him to the reunion we had before I left home – Well, Mikasa and Eren’s.”

Listening to her deep breaths from the other side of the line and the scribbling of a pen, he felt his insides turn. Before he could say anything to apologize for doing something stupid, Annie shushed him as she continued writing. Armin waited, though he sat down to wait for what his therapist had to say about it. He had spent a long time troubled about what Jean would think and say to his constant lying and hiding, so that could have been more than enough for Annie to take her time to reply.

“Alright,” she said after some minutes, her serious voice shaking Armin’s heart. “So I take it you went back to seeing each other?”

“Annie, come on,” Armin whispered to the phone, grimacing. “I couldn’t be so heartless. Jean’s not okay, and he needs to work on pending issues before even thinking of a relationship. He told me that himself.”

“Sweetie, you sound way too different now,” he heard her reply after a whistle hit his eardrum. “I’m so proud of you. What have you done recently then? Any hobbies? How’s uni?”

“Right now, I’m in the middle of a sea of papers due next week,” Armin said joyfully, picking up some documents to pile them more orderly. “Studying’s great. I’ve done my best at least.”

“You seem much more relaxed. I’m so glad you left,” Annie groaned after her congratulations, making Armin a little bit tense. “You took three-quarters the burden off your shoulders. I am very happy about this.”

“I feel much better. I have nothing to hide.”

“How about we take some time to catch up, kiddo?” she asked before saying her goodbyes, to which Armin just hummed again as he nodded his head slowly. Bringing the same big smile back to his lips, he started working on his assignments as the shadows of the sunset were reflected on his white walls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a short chapter, but it was wholesome to write. I am not so used to writing such positive things.
> 
> Many thanks to the people who have left kudos on this story. I constantly have doubts about keeping on writing it, but they remind me it's not that bad, I guess?


	17. you can't choose what stays and what fades away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Armin's anxiety eats him alive, but he realizes he's ironically not alone in this.

Whenever he looked at himself lately, he did his best not to observe. He just wanted to pretend it was a visitor by the mirror. Although his exams were going pretty well, he hadn't been so certain about continuing his studies for a while. Moving homes had hit him tremendously in so many ways that he couldn't bring himself to admit it just yet. Fortunately, Annie was nice enough to let him in despite his finances. After having treated his anxiety for almost five years, he knew she was someone he could count on. Nevertheless, right there in the middle of the night, without anyone to make a sound or bother him with an entirely random midnight talk, Armin missed his role. More than anything, Armin missed being the older sibling Mikasa should've been. Sadly, she was always too busy playing Mom, so the blonde boy quickly had taken a liking to a role that was nowhere to be his. So desperate he felt for the company then, in the silence of his room, that he made up his mind to go and accept Annie's invitation. He had stopped seeing her regularly a while back, around a year and a half before parting from his family. By then, he had come to master his mind to cope with all his responsibilities while juggling with the task that taking care of Eren meant. Armin always wondered how Mikasa could still outlive taking care of both of them, yet his answer was always reduced to the love she had for them. Her love and society putting lots of pressure on her.

Taking his phone in his hands, he checked his social media accounts quickly, finding nothing of interest. As he scrolled down the endless site, he became more self-conscious of where exactly his life was going. Armin himself wasn't still so sure. Being on his own and without his grandfather to write letters to, there was no possible earthly connection he could have to his recent days. He felt like he was flying, though turbulence took a great part of the flight. However, somewhere inside of him, he felt confident there would be something good to get out of the new stage he was about to live. There was no way he'd leave home just to get immersed in even more pain and stress than the one he'd been putting up with for years. Checking his messaging app, he realized he'd never replied to Reiner's texts about the tea party. Giggling to himself as he let his head fall on the fluffy pillow below his back, he realized he had gotten someone like him to try and arrange something so innocent and alcohol-free. Of all people, Reiner had shown to be one of the most supportive people in their group. Taking that into consideration, Armin made a mental note to eventually reply to the other man's plans. After all, the party was meant to be for him and no one else; all his friends felt definitely relieved that he'd given up on Eren.

Scrolling down his contacts, he saw the shiny honey eyes and confident smile of he who was not to be his. To his surprise, Jean had, after a long time of having that old photo sitting next to Marco, changed his profile picture. Feeling lost, Armin tapped on the contact just to double-check that his mind wasn't just playing tricks on him. Analyzing the portrait, he realized that it surely was a recent photo of him since the longer hair and tired eyes could be spotted quite easily. Smiling to himself, Armin let the light of his phone fall on his face, illuminating him and the few objects around his head. After their talk, they hadn't blocked one another, yet they implicitly weren't up for any sort of talks. Jean had said it himself: they couldn't be friends. Tapping a short message, Armin read over it three times before sending it. He was sure he would regret it the next morning, but he felt so alone then that he knew Jean wouldn't be so miserable to just leave him hanging on. He hoped so.

Buzzing immediately, Armin was shocked to see that he'd gotten a reply. First of all, he hadn't expected the other man to reply quickly. Nevertheless, when he saw the message, his smile fell to its usual position those days.

_You look so tired. How's work going?_

_can you believe its this time of night and i havent blinked even once_

_Anything I can help with? I can type fast._

_dont even get me started ahh thanks. will count on you next time.. just finished the last report. hows school?_

_Lots of writing, too._

_your new home?_

Armin could've said plenty of things about his new house. If he'd felt just a tiny bit better, he would've mentioned how big it was for one person, how bright it looks by day and how dark it felt at night. He would've probably added that it was one of the prettiest houses around, just being beaten by the one next to his, which had harmonious colors and a bigger garden with lots of beautiful flowers. He would've gone as far as to invite him to go see him for tea one evening both of them were sort of free from work. Instead, Armin could only bring himself to shrug and sigh, disappointed.

_It is what it is._

_good thing you have mikasa._

Though he would've loved for Jean to be the one keeping him company and helping him build something new.

_Am I keeping you from work? Please, just go ahead if I am. I just wanted to know how you are doing._

_youre alright. thanks. sleep well._

Locking his phone screen, Armin felt his eyes get heavier after the amounts of light they'd been exposed to in the middle of his home's darkness. Armin had expected a completely different conversation - anything but being professional. Jean had just been really good at putting his walls up. If there was something he envied about the musician, it was his age and experience. He must've been just a few years older than him, but Armin hadn't longed for adulthood to knock on his door any more feverishly than then, lying on his unmade bed without any sheets separating him from the hard mattress.

* * *

The following weeks, Armin realized how accurate his description had been. Opening a foam pot of instant noodles, he lay down on a new couch he had managed to get from one of his friends. Nowhere to be seen, Armin spent most of his days sitting opposite his laptop's way-too-bright screen as he typed reports, stories, and critiques away. Having noticed how awful it felt to just stand by the bus stop in the early mornings, he decided that having Bertl help him would certainly save him from disgrace. Their modus operandi consisted of Armin writing all the assignments he had to turn in just to upload them to a cloud they shared, by then full of uni files that served them both. The deal was for Armin not to leave his house to face any responsibilities all the while Bertholdt did his best to sign the attendance papers the way Armin would've. Luckily, their class was so big that it wasn't very likely for teachers to ever notice how long the short boy would be gone. With the huge number of learners swarming in and out of their classrooms, it was practically impossible that they would ever notice. Therefore, their plan was flawless as their context fully enhanced Armin's homeschooling experience.

Leaving home had become harder to Armin as days went by. Every day, he woke up with the sensation of not being able to breathe well enough to survive a whole day outside. His first attempts had consisted of him getting on the bus towards university, though he found himself giving up on the task very quickly. There had been a few times in which his neighbor next door had had to stop him by his house's fence to check upon him. Fortunately, the woman had been kind enough to him that his brain didn't have to add the pressure of bothering other people to the whole processing of not being capable of standing outside freely and effortlessly.

Finding himself cross-legged, he fished his phone from one of his sweater pockets as its constant ringing never ceased. Armin had tried ignoring the device for a long while yet, when he saw who was calling, he picked it up faster than he'd moved around all that time at home.

"Annie?" he whispered through the phone, already feeling the weight of leaving home on his shoulders.

"Hi, sweetie. Are you free on Friday at 4 pm? I have an appointment at 5.30, so that'll give us a lot of time to catch up."

"I've always asked myself how much of a psychic you actually are," he let all the air in his lungs out, exhaling after facing the same doubt for the umpteenth time.

"We spoke like a month ago, and October's about to be over. Also, I know you lots by now."

"Do you want me to bring you something to eat? I could always just... get you anything you want. I owe you that much."

"You and tea bags are enough. Remember you don't owe me anything. It's my job, and you've already paid for all your sessions."

"Deal. Friday at 4."

Hanging up, Armin left his phone next to the laptop to start working again. Listening to a playlist he'd made with songs he'd recently discovered, he was struck by the feeling of simply not moving on for an entirely different reason than the one he'd told himself all those days. As The Script's _If You Ever Come Back_ played through his earphones, his eyes were coolly directed at the fridge on the other side of the place. For the first time since he let go of Jean's lips, he thought that he wasn't letting go because he didn't want to. All that time, he had attributed his weak will when detaching himself romantically to the fact that he had become accustomed to everything that Jean's presence involved. However, right then, sitting on his own and feeling much less overwhelmed than the night he'd texted the Music teacher, he made sure to restate his wants and needs when it came to the only person who had brought him the kind of joy he'd longed for. Finally typing the last sentences of his last assignment of the week, he proofread his work lazily before uploading it. As soon as it was up, Bertholdt called to check upon him, and Armin gave him any directions to follow before printing his works. Lately, Bertl had had lots of issues with his assignments since his laptop needed a fix and there was some kind of bug affecting his word processor. After pointing out every detail to be corrected, he stopped for a minute and smiled down at his feet. Reiner was still waiting for his response, but he'd been self-centered enough to forget about the rest.

* * *

"I'm seeing Annie again," Armin admitted in front of his mirror as he brushed his teeth and held his phone with one ear pressed against its screen. "I haven't even seen anybody since – I don't know. A long time. It’s gonna feel weird."

Staring down at his shoes, the Literature student checked his outfit for the last minutes before leaving home. It’d been almost a month of being there by himself, and the outside world scared him more than it should’ve by then. Desperately, Armin kept holding on to the phone as he heard Mikasa quickly chat with one of her classmates. As much as he was exposing himself to the streets after having been hidden for so long, his sister’s objectivity came in handy to engage in commuting without losing his mind.

“It’s going to be fine,” Mikasa replied after having dealt with background conversations, “Annie has helped us before, and she told you she’d be there for you whenever you needed her. It’s her job, and it’s your job to take care of yourself.”

“I know,” Armin whispered his response, locking his house’s fence door. As his old neighbors next door waved hello at him, he moved his hand awkwardly to greet them back. Trying not to make eye contact with anybody in his surroundings, he kept his voice low not to be heard by anyone but Mikasa and himself. Having been locked down for such a long time definitely didn’t help him know what type of neighborhood he lived in, so he prevented any sort of rumors in case living could get any worse. “I am about to take the bus. Is it alright if I call you after the session?”

“Call me whenever you want.” Armin heard his sister assure him of a type of contact he couldn’t afford to lose. Almost too predictably, Mikasa had said her words trying her best to send a smile his way, and he could perfectly feel it in the way she talked. After having moved homes, Armin had remained distant from everyone else. Reiner’s text remained to be answered, Mikasa’s voice had sounded through the phone just then, and the only person he had kept in touch with was related to the only thing that couldn’t go wrong: his studies. He felt thankful for Bertholdt’s doing at uni; he wasn’t sure if he could’ve pulled the trick out as flawlessly as his friend had. Fortunately, he could count on him for almost anything – almost. There was no way he would open himself up about his stupid love life again. After having written Jean those texts, it felt like the musician was old news.

Getting on the bus that led him to Annie’s office, Armin let himself abruptly fall on one of the seats at the back of the huge means of transport. After hearing the noise of his bag hitting the tiny plastic seat, he looked out for any people staring at him. Gladly, no one had taken any interest in his indelicate way of sitting down. Plugging his earphones in, he searched down his playlists for a song to listen to, yet he soon realized that he would’ve rather spent the 15-minute ride in silence, watching the trees and cars go by. Armin felt the vibrations of his phone’s silenced ringtone, and he did his best not to pay attention to the calls he was supposed to be picking up. Those last few weeks, Eren had made several attempts at contacting him, but Armin thought he wasn’t strong enough to say anything back, not even a brief greeting. Annie had previously explained to him that was natural and that there were some things to be reflected upon before his behavior towards his brother went back to a healthier one. Nodding to himself by one of the left windows, Armin checked his golden watch to keep track of time. He’d recently found out that it was an effective way of keeping himself grounded during the time he spent on his own.

By the time Armin arrived at Annie’s, the phone kept buzzing in one of his tweed jacket’s pockets. However, as he made his way into the office after waving at his therapist curtly, he felt anxious about the thought of opening himself up to anyone again. The last time he’d done something anywhere near that, well, it’d just turned out horribly wrong. Jean Kirschstein was enough proof of that.

“You look troubled, darling,” Annie commented seriously once they got to one of the many rooms in the old apartment. Annie usually rented some of the places inside the big apartment for yoga lessons or tarot readings, but she’d lately adjusted to keeping the rooms to herself and her patients. Armin had been used to waiting for Annie to choose a room in the past, but that time he just went straight ahead to the last room he’d been in before his psychologist discharged him. Remaining in silence, Annie crossed her legs and waited patiently.

Armin did not really know where to start. It had all seemed redemptive enough to him as he’d ridden his bike over to his new home. It’d felt relieving to have a lot of space to himself without any extra luggage to carry. It’d felt good to be away from what hurt him.

“I am,” he simply said, swallowing harshly to keep himself from crying. In his opinion, he’d already cried enough to keep on doing such a silly thing.

“Tell me when you feel rea–“

“I thought all my problems would be over if I left that house,” Armin replied tearfully as he grasped both sides of his armchair almost manically. “But I hate feeling like there’s so much left to work on. I’m tired. I just want to be happy. But anyway, I was so stupid. Do I even deserve that?”

“’ _Happy_ ,’ Armin, is temporary,” Annie reassured him as she eyed him cautiously. The last time Armin had been at her office had been about a year before, and the context had changed enormously ever since. “Also, remember. It’s not like one _deserves_ to be happy or miserable. It just happens as you go and feel.”

“I know,” Armin nodded his head quickly, commenting it more to himself than to anyone else in the room. “When I was about to move homes, I just never considered what it would mean to be completely alone. It’s felt like walking through the mines lately.”

“That happens, ‘Min. It’s part of the process. How long has it been already?”

“Almost a month. It’ll be one on my birthday.”

“Hey, you’re right,” Armin saw a smile appear gracefully on Annie’s lips as her eyes shone. Sometimes, he wondered if his therapist had the type of acting skills to look so naturally pleased. “That’s right. Have you celebrated your new home?”

“Reiner’s been pushing me to for long enough,” Armin laughed back, pressing a hand to his brow to brush his messy fringe away. Biting back the tears that threatened to come back, he directed his eyes to the pale pink ceiling. “I just haven’t had the strength.”

“Hey, listen, it’s not about strength. It’s about whether you want to do it or not,” Annie shook her head as she jotted down some notes on her notebook. “I merely suggested it because most people find it a good idea to start over. Since you have such a nice relationship with all of them, I believe you could give it some thought.”

“I’ve thought about it every day.”

“Sorry. I meant something far from self-destructive thinking,” Annie answered shortly, almost muttering the words as her cold eyes pierced into Armin’s like knives. Knowing it too well, Armin felt Annie’s methods start to work in him. Holding back never did him any good in the end.

“I’m scared, Annie,” the student admitted, hanging his head with eyes closed. “I don’t want this whatever party to bring Jean back to me. Not that I don’t want it to – I just feel like Jean isn’t prepared to see me at all.”

“What makes you think that?”

“The last time we saw each other,” Armin stopped to gasp for air, releasing one of his collar buttons to feel less pressured. “He told me he wasn’t ready just yet.”

“So you’re just waiting on him now?”

“Sorta?”

“God,” Annie sighed deeply, letting her face fall on both her hands. “That is definitely not the way to do things. What was Jean thinking?”

“I mean, no, wait,” Armin jolted to defend the older man, “He never, ever told me to wait for him.”

“But he said he wasn’t ready _yet_?”

“He also said he didn’t want me wasting my time on him anymore,” Armin said rapidly, almost defensively. “Well, it wasn’t manipulative at all, I swear.”

“How could you know that?” Annie asked him, writing paragraphs on Armin’s section by then. “Our minds can trick us in so many ways sometimes.”

“I don’t exactly remember the words, Annie,” Armin regretted, using his right hand as support for his cheek. “But there were no ill intentions. I promise. Actually, I was the one at fault.”

Sitting stiffly on the armchair by then, Armin got some tissues from the center table between them. As he told Annie about the last time they’d texted, he noticed her attentive gaze and the way she flipped the pages back and forth randomly. By the time he finished commenting on how he felt about that night, he remained in silence as he saw Annie writing. Although he hadn’t seen her in a year, it was very probable that Annie wouldn’t change her ways to something so apparently useless and pointless.

“So I take it you’ve never met?” he heard her voice echo around the room after keeping his gaze fixed on her left hand. “Armin?”

“Why are you writing in two different places?” the blonde man asked almost mechanically, feeling his blood freeze at the feeling of something entirely wrong going on inside those four walls. “Sorry. I’m curious.”

“Your case applies to a similar one,” Annie answered as objectively as possible, already realizing what Armin thought about. “Jean has been my patient for some months.”

“So that’s why you called me,” Armin hummed, brushing some tears away from his eyes. “But isn’t this, like, unethical?”

“No, sweetie, I am not here with you because of Jean,” Annie giggled, and Armin felt his heart lighten at the clarification. Of all things he didn’t want to lose, his confidence in Annie’s therapy was one of his priorities. “I just knew things were not going well lately. You even told me through the phone, and I promised to keep an eye on you once in a while.”

“Was it Reiner?” Armin sighed, half-relieved, half-incredulous. “It was Reiner, wasn’t it?”

“I’m still not sure if it was Bertl or him,” Annie moved her head from one side to the other, letting the bones in her neck crack almost unperceptively. “Not that it matters. We’re here, and we’re trying to work it out.”

“Thanks, Annie,” Armin smiled at her genuinely, feeling his breath leave him after seconds drowning in despair. “I am certain you will help us both. I just want him to be alright.”

“And I want you to be alright. So, how about you tell me why you’ve felt so lonely lately?”

Explicitly learning a bit about Jean’s therapy process left Armin feeling more at ease about him and their relationship. He was glad to have heard at least bits from him as Annie admitted to being his therapist as well. Nevertheless, when he brought himself to explain his ideas and emotions, he realized there were some things they would have to go back to. Choking not to let out sobs, from time to time, Armin would press his lips into a straight line as he went over what it had meant to leave Eren and Mikasa. Deep inside of him, he had seen in Jean someone he trusted enough to help him move on. However, as Annie had usually insisted on in the past, nobody could be taken as sufficient enough to deal with all the pain and uncertainty that the changes in his life brought to him. From then on, Armin realized he’d have to work on his self-confidence and coping mechanisms again, for expecting Jean to be his support was way too fantastic of an expectation. None of them had been in a good place recently, and wanting Jean to be his knight in the shining armor would’ve probably just ruined whatever they had up to that point.

Closing the huge apartment’s door, Armin had said goodbye to the first of many sessions to come. He didn’t feel proud of himself at all for having been mindlessly self-indulgent about the only person he felt could possibly spend life by his side. It hadn’t been fair o him, and it was good to have Annie remind him of all the things he still had to work on. Looking down, he headed for the old elevator, and he pressed the red, round button as the floor numbers lit up, indicating when it would be time for him to get in. Not noticing the strong, slender fingers pushing the elevator’s door open to one side, Armin stepped forward twice before stumbling onto the texture of a piece of fabric that felt way too similar to the one used to make suits. As he smelled the mild essence of lavender impregnated in the other person’s clothes, he raised his head to apologize to the person in front of him. Meeting the same tired, honey eyes of the 192x192 pixels profile picture, he brought himself to the same dynamic of holding back tears from an hour before. Watching the man before him take his phone in his hands as he apparently made a call, Armin stood there paralyzed.

“Annie? It’s Jean. I’m here way too early, sorry,” the man mumbled on the phone, his eyes glued to Armin’s baby blue orbs. His gaze indecipherable as ever, Jean kept holding the elevator’s doors, not letting them separate him from Armin in any way. Sighing, he continued as he produced a quick, close-to-meaningless reply, “Yes. I wish you’d said something earlier, though.”

Holding his arm up for Armin to enter the elevator, he motioned for the shorter man to come in. Following a two-way direction, Jean immediately exited the tiny cubicle, his hands still strongly holding the rusty, old doors. Not taking his eyes away from Jean’s for any second, Armin bowed at him almost formally, as If he’d been a mere stranger pulling out an act of kindness. Unsure of what to do about it, he opened his mouth to thank him, but no sounds came out. Lost in his thoughts and the absurdity of having Jean so close to him, he shook his head and let it fall, his eyes meeting his own shoes as he caught a glimpse of the musician’s.

“Was it Reiner?” Armin dared to ask, playing with the fabric of his polka-dotted shirt. Breathing in loudly, he took up the challenge of not exhaling until Jean was out of sight. Armin was sure he’d be close to crying any second.

“Yes,” Jean quickly responded, looking transfixed. “I’m so glad it was him. How’s home?”

Deep inside, Armin knew his answer was code for being happy to see each other again. The younger man himself felt joyous enough about getting to see Jean at least for a while. Biting his lip with a crystallized stare, he looked back up into Jean’s eyes as the corners of his mouth were suddenly lifted by his most heartfelt excitement. “It’s been awful.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Jean added tensely, eyeing Armin lovingly. “It’s been shitty as fuck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title was taken from queen Florence Welch's "No Light, No Light." It's probably one of the strongest songs to ever exist.
> 
> If you have time, please, let me know what you think! I've already reached the part in which I'm preparing for an all-out ending. Thanks to everyone who's taken the time to read this. :-)


	18. put it behind you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Armin receives a call and finds out about some things he definitely wasn't expecting to happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a tough week and I've felt really Armin-y lately. I really hope this is good enough for you! At least, life for him is starting to light up. I guess? heh

The day he and his friends had decided to throw Armin’s First House Tea Party, the stressed college student received a 5 am call while he finished the last paragraph of the night. Lately, he had been struggling even more with the way he handled his academic life, often judging himself for not being able to do everything as anyone else would. After the meeting with Annie and accidentally finding Jean on the spot, Armin made it his goal to start going back to college rather abruptly. Not long after that, he had tried attending school every single day of the week, and that had eventually harmed him. Bertholdt had asked him every day about whether he was sure of what he’d been about to do, yet Armin forced himself to believe he could take the responsibility, no damage done. He went through Monday and Tuesday without many problems, though not less effortlessly than the rest of the week, in which he struggled the most. Finding Eren on Wednesday around campus, registering at his university’s Musical Arts faculty made his anxiety levels spike like they hadn’t since he started visiting Annie again. Armin had avoided his brother’s calls for mental stability ever since the day he’d left the Yeager house, which did wonders to his overall mood and state of mind. However, a certain kind of pain resided inside of him as he was sure he would not be able to run away from an impending encounter forever. One day he would have to speak to Eren, and he felt like it would be easier once time granted him with enough balance in his life. Despite his several attempts not to feel afraid about a confrontation, it was always easier said than done. Catching the oh-so-familiar emerald eyes looking his way, Armin had done his best to appear as strong-willed as he could, yet one of his hands had flown to grab Bertholdt by the elbow.

“Help,” he’d whispered, his eyes jittery as he tried to stare up and focus his sight on Bertl’s tall figure among the cloudy mantle caused by the tears that had threatened to fall. “I’m not ready.”

“I’m here,” Armin had heard the short response and let go, crossing his hands behind his back in a similar way to Jean’s. That thought, however, had not helped him face the challenge at all. Linking his fingers, he’d pressed his palms together almost too aggressively for a self-defense posture. “We’ll be fine.”

Bertholdt had been great support those last few months. Apart from spending time on his own, whenever he was meant to complete a new assignment, he saw Bertholdt outside his house. Sometimes, he would bring Reiner over, but Armin never let them come in when he did. When it was just the two of them, Armin was used to offering tea as Bertl made his way into the kitchen to leave some food for his isolated friend. His offers were always turned down, and he knew it was mainly because he did not even go out for supplies, so why would he use Armin’s when he knew how hard it was for him to cope with the outside world lately?

Going the opposite way Eren was, Armin had made sure to walk at a speed in which he could still catch up with his tall friend. It hadn’t been a hard task considering the gentle giant beside him practically dragged him along, acting out as a wall between the brothers. Slightly turning his head around, just enough to watch out for an explosive counterattack in the light of having just been ignored, Armin waited expectantly. He had imagined a loud yell would come first, probably his name in a tone of voice that was completely different from what he’d been used to. Then, his brother would’ve come running in their direction just to grab him by the arm and question him about how long it’d been for the blonde student to forgive him. Nevertheless, as they went down the hall to get to their History of Art morning lesson, Armin realized Eren had gone for a pacifist approach, not even overreacting to something he would have a while back. Recounting on what had just happened, he also realized it had been long since he left for an independent life and, if he was really lucky, maybe Mikasa had done her magic to let both make amends in their own time. For that, Eren needed to understand he’d been at fault and not the victim, which was his main flaw when it came to conflict resolution skills.

Staring up at Bertholdt, he’d gotten a smile for a response. Opening the door for his friend to go into the classroom first, Armin had bowed and thanked him for the help. As silently as he had, he meant it more than anything else. All of the while, he had been his support through his way to being independent.

While the cold wind made its way through the old window sill cracks, Armin’s thoughts were shaken by the constant ringing of his phone alongside the unbearable noise of its vibrations. Before picking up the call, he checked the time on the top right corner of his screen and gasped with eyes wide open. As much as he was not used to receiving calls so early at night or _ever_ in fact, his orbs went over the phone number with the name of a place he knew too well. Alarmed, he did his best to calm down before the device would ring one last time.

“Yes?” he hesitated to answer, his fingers fumbling with the peach-colored bed sheets.

“Mr. Arlert, I apologize for calling you at this time of night,” one of the nurses at his grandfather’s asylum started, sound not so sure herself of making the call. “Your grandfather has been asking about you for about half an hour, and it seems important. We thought it was part of his usual dreams, yet he hasn’t stopped since he woke up. Although the medication was administered to him, and he has been kept under surveillance, he will not stop looking for you.”

“I haven’t written to him in a while. I changed homes a few months ago,” Armin spoke more to himself than the other side of the line. “What time would be okay for me to be there?”

“We allow visitors from eight onwards. We will make sure he is awake and stable by the time you get here,” the nurse replied, his voice tinged with a kind of worry Armin already knew too well. “Shall we expect you to come?”

“You shall,” Armin said with a small voice, pushing his nails’ cuticles back out of one of his old painful habits. “Anything else should happen, phone me immediately.”

After hanging up, the blonde man remained seated at the edge of the bed for about an hour, staring absentmindedly at the wardrobe that was placed just a few steps away from him. As numb as sleep and the unexpected call had left him, he couldn’t have gotten back to drifting off even if he’d wanted to. Going over any chances of his grandfather dying, he felt something move in his stomach. Needing to throw up, Armin laced his fingers on his lap and closed his eyes, breathing in and out as he counted to four and back to zero. Achieving temporarily calm as his insides settled down, he felt slightly shaken when his alarm clock went off, initially set to start his morning routine before finishing his assignments. Taking a final deep breath, he abandoned his position and stretched his neck as he stood up. Turning one of the stove’s fires on, he set a kettle with fresh water to boil. For three days in a row, he’d been reusing the same water over and over, but he decided it was about time he drained his rusty kettle and drank a proper cup of tea. Right after deciding on a white shirt with loose sleeves, dark blue jeans, and light brown Oxford shoes, he made his way to the bathroom to take a quick shower. Letting the water stream down his hair and face made it all feel better; he felt relaxed and at peace with visiting his grandfather. As acquainted as he was with deaths, taking into account his parents’, he was thankful for having the opportunity to see him again. In the worst-case scenario, he at least was about to say goodbye, which was something he hadn’t been able to do with Mrs. and Mr. Arlert.

After he was done showering and dressing, he turned off the stove and made himself the delayed teacup he deserved. He checked his phone for any other news, finding a notification about all the messages that were still there for him to answer. Fortunately, he had been brave enough to talk to Reiner about meeting in his house, so that made him feel much more at ease. When he was done having breakfast, his kitchen clock had already struck 6.45, reminding him he was to leave soon if he didn’t want to be too late. Before leaving home, he put on a mustard-colored sweater and Mikasa’s red scarf, for he knew he’d need her presence in any way that day more than ever. He walked down the street at a fast pace, tapping his phone screen randomly to choose a song from one of his playlists. The light ukulele and piano chords from _If a Song Could Get Me You_ sounded like magic through his earphones as he crossed the main avenue to get to the bus stop. Swinging his head to the melody of the sound, Armin mouthed the song with a smile on his face. Nevertheless, he stopped listening when he set foot on one of the bus stop’s tiles and saw the familiar suit and hair color. A few people apart stood Jean Kirschstein in all his splendor with the same suit from the time they had met or, rather, from all the times he’d previously seen him in the graveyard. _What were they doing in the same place so early? He was going to work probably, but how was it possible?_ Armin often had a bad memory and wasn’t so skillful when it came to spatial orientation. Maybe, he’d moved closer to Jean, yet it hadn’t been obvious considering the difference in housing. Hanging his head low, he waited for all the people present to get in and cursed himself for wearing such bright colors anywhere near the Music teacher. Seeing no one else stand there but himself, he got on the bus and walked towards the back of it, holding on to one of the handlebars nearby.

Feeling too self-conscious to raise his head and see where they were headed, he checked a map app on his phone to track wherever his GPS was pointing. So far, so good. Feeling more comfortable doing so, he resumed the song he’d been listening to and sat down when a lady made her way to the bus exit. Quickly checking out the people near him, Armin realized Jean was nowhere near where he could be spotted. Armin was also sure that he wouldn’t be as forceful as to go and start a conversation with him. They were a weird kind of exes… sort of. They had never made it official in the first place, but the ties that bound them made Armin felt more than contempt with saying that he had at least been able to date Jean. Finding himself lost in his thoughts, he blinked just to see a pair of light brown eyes staring at him just a couple of people away. Catching him staring, Armin stared in awe as the older man smiled shyly and waved rapidly at him to say hello. Lowering his gaze, the Literature student checked their location and stood up from his seat as he looked around and saw he had to get off the bus soon. Smiling in Jean’s direction, he grabbed the bar near one of the automatic doors, trying to look as confident and careless as possible. However, it was more than surprising when the other man came towards him, standing next to him as he pressed the button for the bus to stop.

“Thanks,” Armin said hurriedly, feeling his cheeks get warmer at the suddenly affectionate gesture. Looking down, he found Jean’s hand grasping a transparent folder tightly. To his amusement, the irony of it all became more unbearable as he read the title of the first music sheet in it: Once’s _When your Mind’s Made Up_.

“Oh, well-“ Jean stuttered, trying to find the words fast to no avail. Giving up, he huffed. “This is where I leave actually. I teach over there,” Armin heard him continue as he pointed towards Rose International School. _There was no way Reiner could’ve gotten him the job as well, was there?_

“Oh,” Armin said barely audibly, “Okay. That makes two of us then.”

When the bus stopped right opposite Jean’s school, Armin took his eyes away from the taller man and gave him the chance to leave before him. Nevertheless, once the Music teacher’s feet stepped on the pavement, he reached out a hand for Armin to help him. A puddle from the previous night rain lay unmoved in the space between them, and the student wondered if he could make it on his own without making a fool out of himself. Having thought it through, he accepted the offer and jumped off the bus. Giggling softly, Armin looked up at Jean’s bright eyes. Their height difference was something he hadn’t needed to consider before getting a ride in the new bus line.

“Are you going to see Grandpa?” he heard Jean ask hesitantly while he put the folder inside his bag. All the papers had threatened to escape his grasp when he’d taken the time to help Armin out.

Feeling slightly creeped out by the question coming from a man he wasn’t intended to see again, he squinted his eyes as he kept his blue eyes fixed on hazel ones. “How do you know?” Armin whispered, his nostrils widening a bit from the facial tension.

“Once a mailman, always a mailman,” Jean smiled back at him, making him get rid of the uncanny feeling of him ever knowing anything about his grandfather’s place. “Whenever I saw your letters, I would wonder where exactly his home was. I only realized he was near the school when I checked the map once and recognized his street’s name in it. No way I could forget after that.”

Some passersby say Jean’s professional alias, and he suddenly feels the need to leave a situation that seemed so private and alien to him. The guitarist’s relationship with his learners was not something he could be involved in, so he became flustered as he tried not to panic. Feeling Jean’s callous fingers trace his wrist, he shook the thoughts away and tried to look for an excuse to leave as soon as possible. The bus stop where they stood grew quiet seconds after a big group of students left for school from another bus and crossed the main avenue. Trying to keep the same silence, Armin nodded his head without saying a word and looked up apologetically.

“I’m in a hurry,” was all Armin said using the blessed yet cursed economy of language. Getting furrowed eyebrows and hurt look for a response, he bowed in front of Jean before putting his hands inside his sweater pockets.

“There are still some minutes left before I start my 8 am lesson. Do you want me to walk you there? It’s pretty close,” Jean spoke almost mechanically as if he’d rehearsed the line in his head fifty times before saying it. Sensing the discomfort of Jean being so tense and far from his spontaneous self, Armin sighed quietly.

“It’s alright,” Armin shook his head lightly and started walking away. Turning around to say his goodbyes, he remembered a detail he’d been meaning to mention and stopped. “Are you doing Once at school?”

“Always the observant you.”

“So?”

“Yeah, we’re-“ Jean cut himself off, looking away as he stepped closer. Both of them had to walk the same direction at least for 10 steps more before parting ways. Catching him biting his lower lip, Armin smiled genuinely. “The kids and I will be rehearsing some musical songs this semester, and that film came up on the list.”

“That’s a good song you’ve got there,” Armin commented, the same smile never leaving his lips. “I’m sure the kids will enjoy it. Isn’t it too hard, though?”

“No way. Falco and Gabi are going to be brilliant,” Jean tutted as his fingers played with the bottom of his shirt, something Armin knew he did before crossing his arms behind his back. As he heard the names come out of Jean’s mouth, Armin let himself nod and stopped in his tracks.

“Falco and Gabi? Aren’t those Reiner’s siblings?” Armin said, blinking back with a lost stare.

“Yeah. They’re amazing, really,” Jean replied shortly, not even realizing there was another evident connection between them. Armin made a mental note to make Reiner pay for all the efforts to get them together and exhaled.

“Have a good day, Jean. Now, I’d better be off,” he whispered before walking around the corner of Rose street, leaving the taller man behind with a puzzled look in his eyes.

First, it had been his group of friends. Then, Annie. Then, the school near his grandpa’s asylum and also Reiner’s siblings? Shaking the uncomfortable feeling off his shoulders, Armin let out a constricted laugh as he did his best for the knot in his stomach to disappear. Having too much in common with Jean as almost unbearable taking into account how hard both had been working to avoid each other.

* * *

Wrinkly hands wandered around, long fingers with short nails tracing circles over the lilac blanket. The old man’s hair looked no whiter than it had been the last time Armin saw him. The veteran home’s nurses had warned him his grandfather was having a hard time lately as he’d recovered some memories and went over them daily, hourly, or even minutely. His anxiety levels had reached a new peak, and everywhere he went in the big venue, he looked for his son and grandson. Nevertheless, as the blonde boy sat down in front of him, Armin’s old man seemed relieved and speechless. Taking opaquely colored hands in brightly-skinned ones, the student did his best to pretend everything was alright and reminded himself that happiness wouldn’t last that long. At least, it was the first time in a while he hadn’t been greeted by the typical “Who are you?” or “Hello, young man, what can I help you with?”

“How are you feeling?” Armin smiled down at his old man’s face. “I’m so sorry I haven’t written. I moved to a new house a couple of weeks ago.”

“Tell me all about it, my boy,” said the fragile light voice of Mr. Arlert as a smile formed on his dry lips. Making Armin beam in return, he breathed out through his nose and kept quiet until Armin would start.

“The place where I’d been living became so small I felt suffocated,” Armin lied though, deep inside of him, it was a truth untold. “Now, I have a garden of my own and a spacey house. It’s scary at night, but it’s precious in the light of day. I can study there without any problems, and sunlight shines bright at home in the mornings, which makes it even better.”

“I’ve always wanted a house like that,” his grandfather responded, yet the emptiness in his stare as he spoke let Armin know he was going through the stage in which he’d just empathize with whatever opinion he would get. Someone could’ve perfectly come in to give an opinion about why the Nazis had been right last century, and he would’ve agreed undoubtedly.

“The good thing is that your house is better,” Armin giggled and looked around the room, pointing at the spacious place surrounding them. Before seeing his grandfather, the nurses had told him he was supposed to pretend a lot and try to beat around the bush with whatever topic that could trigger a reaction. Armin could do that; he was used to it, but it hurt to do it to him. “People next door told me you’ve been painting and writing. How’s that going?”

“I wrote you a few letters, young man,” Mr. Arlert replied, patting Armin’s shoulder softly. “You never replied. Was it because you moved homes? Last night, I wanted to see you, but you weren’t around here. What happened? I know I’m old, but don’t leave me here alone…”

“I’ve been studying hard, grandad,” Armin replied cautiously, letting his hands braid one of the locks behind his ears. Completely ignoring the topic of ever receiving new letters, he got a notebook and a pen out of his bag to write down his new address. “I am sorry I haven’t had the time to come around. Uni is pretty far away from my house, so you can imagine how late I get back home. I promise I’ll come back as soon as the term is over.”

While Armin jotted down his house number, he noticed in his grandfather’s facial expression how his initial interest had been replaced by drowsiness. The meds had started to work, and the fact that they got to meet again left Mr. Arlert feeling better about his connections to family. Earlier that morning, he had thrown a fit in the nurses’ presence, telling them he was left behind and that everybody had moved on. Armin knew very well that Alzheimer’s always got the most immature side of a person out, yet he didn’t feel convinced by that sole explanation. In some part of his brain, his grandfather had kept track of Armin’s responses, and the young man was somehow grateful for it. In such a case, having his grandad remember anything about him at all was a privilege.

“You tired?” Armin’s grandfather asked in a yawn, covering his teal eyes with an arm. “I’d rather take a nap now. I’ve done a lot of things today.”

“Oh, yes, I am,” the student said in a breath, close to a whisper not to disturb the old man in any way. Holding his grandfather’s hand, he smiled down when he saw him already closing his eyes. “Sleep tight. I’ll be here with you for a while.”

A lot of things. That was true in a sense: he’d been complaining all morning. However, Armin knew things in his brain happened differently. It was just part of the distortion his grandfather had been suffering for quite a long time. Sitting there, now feeling the lilac blanket much warmer than it was when he entered the room, Armin took a minute to close his eyes and try to go back to his normal self. Oh, did he wish his parents were there for him! That way, the struggles of tending to his grandfather would’ve hit much more tenuously. Feeling and hearing the air come in and out through his nose, he made a conscious effort not to lose it to a wish he knew was impossible to make come true. Instead of expecting Mom or Dad to open the door and call his name to go back home, he let the tears he’d collected to fall down his cheeks silently. Working on his breathing, he closed his eyelids tightly and waited for the pain in his chest to become a bit more bearable.

* * *

With the sound of The Noisettes’ _Never Forget You_ blasting loudly through Reiner’s loudspeakers, Armin found himself calmer in a house that was no longer empty and silent. All his life, he’d chased silence and quiet, yet those had been elements he’d missed a bunch as an independent young person. Looking around the living room, he found Reiner and Pieck dancing to the bass of the song, Bertholdt and Yelena singing the lyrics to it in the comfort of his sofa, and Mikasa serving the drinks while he put the snack bowls on the transparent center table. Eren had turned down the offer of visiting Armin’s ever since they saw each other again, but he had sent Armin a good luck message when Mikasa had left the Yeager house. As much as his brother probably meant no harm with such a gesture, the Literature student felt self-conscious about their being apart. Nevertheless, the anxiety that their disagreement caused him was replaced by the delight felt from seeing his group of friends there with him. Then and there, he needed the company more than ever- not pain. Dipping a nacho in Reiner’s sister’s special garlic sauce, he let himself get lost in the flavor and simply rejoice it.

“Hey, ‘Min,” Reiner said as he danced into his space. “I invited Jean, too. He said he’d try coming, but the bastard didn’t promise me anything.”

Opening his eyes widely, Armin did his best to hide the blush that bloomed in his cheeks out of pure frustration. “I don’t even know him, Reiner. Inviting a complete stranger could be dangerous!”

“Arlert, drop the performance. I know what’s going on,” the tall, blonde man smirked, elbowing Armin’s side lightly and almost making him spill his teacup on the floor. “He told me the details.”

“He wouldn’t want to come even if I invited him,” Armin let out involuntarily and pressed his lips together into a straight line to avoid any other words coming out of his mouth. He hadn’t meant to follow Reiner’s lead.

“That’s alright,” intervened Mikasa from behind them, and kept on rationally, “this is a friend meeting. He’s just your friend, Reiner, so we’re doing fine without him.”

Hearing Mikasa’s plain tone of voice assured Armin of Mikasa’s annoyance about the issue at hand. She, more than anyone else, had tried her best to avoid speaking of Jean or Eren all evening. Then, it made sense why neither of Eren’s basketball pals had asked about him when their tea party started. Feeling lost, Armin held his sister by the arm and did his best not to go numb from discovering that Reiner also knew about everything. Watching everyone focus their stares on him only, he felt his knees shaking and his heart pumping blood like crazy. Mikasa helped him find a seat and calmed him down a little before shooting a murderous glance at the initial planner of their party.

“It was almost impossible to keep faking it,” Reiner spoke sitting near his boyfriend, stretching to get rid of the nervousness felt by all of them. “Up in the Air’s Connie and Sasha almost banned us for a month, and they kept asking if we’d been involved in Marco’s episode.”

“Death,” Armin specified with a soft voice. He let his hands toy with his seat’s fake leather cover. “If we’ll talk about it, then let’s talk about it.”

“Fake what?” Pieck asked distraught, pressing the pause button on her phone to get rid of the songs playing in the background. “Wait, Armin, you didn’t kill anyone, did you?”

Surprised by the sight of Mikasa’s frame tensing near the rest of the people, he looked up into her eyes as to ask for permission. Getting a slow nod and uncertain stare, Armin breathed in to reveal their apparently poorly-kept secret. They both knew Reiner was more than capable of telling it himself, but he preferred to be the one to break it down for them.

“Remember Eren’s accident some years ago?” Armin sighed stressfully, giving it his all not to pull his hair out of his scalp. Pressing his bare hands on his stomach, he forced himself to go on as he got everyone nodding immediately. “He ran over Jean’s best friend with our car. Marco died on the spot. Actually, that’s why we never had a vehicle after that event, not because of his carelessly drunk driving.”

“That’s enough, Armin,” Mikasa interrupted him, drawing circles on his back soothingly. “We don’t need to keep coming back to harsh memories all the time.”

“Mikasa, how is he not in prison? How is it that you guys have covered for him for so long?”

“Yelena, I get the sense of justice and everything in between, but you just couldn’t imagine how hard the news was to us.”

“Please, don’t fight,” Armin whispered lowly, feeling his cheeks hotter and hotter as the minutes went by. “Look, that’s what happened. Unfortunately, Jean and I wanted to be together, but it just wasn’t meant to be.”

“So you guys were together on karaoke night?” Pieck asked with a smile, trying to tackle something everyone could feel more at ease about. “There I was wondering how your chemistry was infallible!”

“I believe,” Bertholdt spoke for the first time, drawing looks to himself as he’d spent the time sitting uncomfortably silent next to his boyfriend. “that you shouldn’t let it get in your way. Maybe, it is not for you to decide just yet, but you shouldn’t blame it on yourself. I guess Jean will be more positive about you when he feels better about it all.”

“That’s right!” Reiner nodded his head enthusiastically, giving Armin a thumbs up. “This’ll come like a spoiler, but he actually sounds amazingly joyful when it comes to talking about you. ‘Min, if I were you, I’d wait for him to get his shit straight. Also, you’d make such good boyfriend material.”

When Reiner wobbled his eyebrows, Armin stifled a laugh that threatened to come out of his mouth loudly. Grabbing his cup by the handle, he drank some tea despite the fact it had already gone cold. Tasting the strongly brewed drink in his mouth, he felt his worries wash away temporarily. Smiling back at his friends, the first-year college student dropped the subject and let the rest move on to something everybody could talk about freely. Thankfully, Pieck had taken care of making it better for Armin and Mikasa as she urged Yelena to play some 2010s Pop and dance with her. Staring back at Mikasa, he held out his hand to grab hers and squeezed it lightly, giving her the chance to look back at him and leave the past in the past for a while, together. When he saw Mikasa’s vacant stare, he pulled her into a hug to calm her down, for it was the first time in a long time that things hadn’t gone the way she’d expected them to.

“What’s stopping you from being happy now?” Mikasa asked sorrowfully, pressing her chin onto Armin’s left collarbone.

“His happiness,” Armin said in return, and it was hard for him to figure out who was making it hard to let go of the other. “I just need to be patient. I am sure things will be better with time.” As much as he liked lying to others about what the future may bring, there was a rather sour-y feeling to it. Of all things he was sure he could achieve in his life, Jean’s stability in their relationship wasn’t one he could ensure. Nevertheless, he never let his head go around the topic that much since they hadn’t even made it to being official to begin with.

The rest of their tea party remained drama-free, which helped both siblings relax in light of the fact that everyone knew what had happened in their family. They danced and talked some more before it was time for them to give Armin gifts he could use at home. His friends gifted him wooden cutlery and eco-friendly crockery to start living in his new home in the most sustainable way possible. From Gabi and Falco, Reiner had also brought him some plants he could have in the garden. That way, he explained, they wished him he wouldn’t feel so alone in such a big house. Laughing softly, Armin accepted them and planted them near the entrance, thanking everyone for their efforts and will to attend such a boring kind of party. Before bidding them farewell, Armin ran to his bedroom and fetched Mikasa’s scarf, giving it back to her as he hugged everyone goodbye. Whispering some words of encouragement, he got her back on her feet as he wrapped the woolen, red object around her neck. Finally receiving a smile from the group, he opened the fence door to let them go. Watching them walk away from there, all his friends perfectly aligned as they walked down the empty street, he suddenly heard a yell coming from Reiner. Smiling to himself, Armin closed the door and took a few steps towards his new plants, sitting beside them on the cold, paved pathway to his house door. Despite the truth being released, which wasn’t something bad at all, it had been a nice evening with everyone he loved.

“So this is where you live now?!” a friendly voice came from the other side of the fence, the words slipping away yet fragmented by loud exhalations. Looking up, Armin found Jean smiling at him, his hands gripping the metal bars as if his life depended on it.

“Oh God, Reiner,” the student stood up from the cold ground and walked towards the older man. “Don’t tell me he wanted you to come anyway.”

“No fucking way I would have come,” Jean spat, and it made Armin feel hurt inside. Although there was no way he would show it, he found the eyes of the other man and regretted physically reacting to his statement so subtly. Jean had already noticed. “Shit, no, that’s not what I meant. I just- I’m tired from work. How could I party in the middle of the week, for fuck’s sake.”

“Don’t explain yourself,” Armin giggled loudly, never taking his eyes away from the Music teacher. “It’s alright. I wouldn’t have expected you to come along; we’re all kids to you.”

“Your house is beautiful,” the younger man heard him say and looked up, finding Jean mesmerized by the aesthetics of his new home, his eyes lighting up at the sight of his place. Beaming, Armin pinched one of Jean’s hands that were still holding the bars of his fence tightly.

“Why are you here, Jean?” he asked cheerfully, letting go of the cold, slender fingers. Jumping, his interlocutor regained some conscience about where he was and what time of day it was.

“I’m on my way home, Armin. Jesus, you should’ve told me sooner.”

“How could I know your house was anywhere near mine?”

“Well… you walked me home once,” Jean shrugged his shoulders, trying to beat Armin with an argument that sounded logical enough to him.

“It was dark,” Armin laughed, letting his eyes roam around Jean’s face, finding him smiling brightly back at him. “I don’t even know where I’m standing sometimes. Sorry, no way I could’ve guessed!”

“That’s alright, uh-“ Jean cut himself off nervously, stuttering as he looked for the right words. Cherishing the view before him, Armin waited until the teacher continued. “I have to do lots of school work now, so I gotta go. Could I…?”

“Careful what you’re asking for,” Armin said brutally honestly, looking away as the knot in his throat tightened suddenly.

“Armin, I-“ Jean began, shaking a hand in front of him for Armin to look back. Defeated, the blonde boy in the light shirt made himself stare into the taller man’s eyes, sensing some kind of fear and excitement out of them. “Could I come by some day?”

Speechless, Armin nodded his head almost imperceptibly when he saw Jean’s face show adorable uneasiness. Sighing comfortably, Armin couldn’t feel more grateful after realizing there was a chance for them to make things right despite their past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you thought about this one! Your feedback is always appreciated to improve my work.


	19. oh god! now, what did i say? let me start over again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Though Armin set his mind on waiting, they are brought back together by what started everything. Jean gives some context to his students.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! The title was taken from The Brobecks' "Love at First Sight". You can start listening to it as soon as you're transported to Up in the Air. Here it is: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=je6sqxRKWuw

Armin never saw Jean anywhere near his house again nor did he get any messages from him. Jean’s bus was headed north in the mornings, while his university’s shuttle bus was headed to the south-east part of town. As much as he looked for the tall teacher in his regular attire, Armin didn’t get to see him. After two weeks getting up much earlier than he should have, he realized it was a fruitless effort at keeping their connection as it was. He simply felt tired of waiting and going the extra mile for Jean when, maybe, he had regretted contacting him again. Who knew? It wasn’t like Armin had the guts to ask. However, as much of a letdown as it was not to see his love again, the Literature undergraduate did not have to cope with uncontainable sorrow anymore. He was aware of Jean’s treatment, what he would go through, and what was to be done before him recovering anytime soon. Armin had undergone something similar, and Annie had advised him not to visit Marco’s tomb for some time right after he started therapy. Not seeing Jean in whatever state he would usually show up hurt him back then, so it was impossible for Armin not to show empathy for the teacher’s fight.

Instead, he focused on his own pending issues and went on with writing the journals his therapist had suggested to him to do. By doing so, he would have a clearer mind about his independence and how things had turned out to be between his adoptive family and himself. Armin had tried his best to keep in touch with Mikasa, though it was fortunately she who initiated conversations of any sort. It became overwhelming at times to have any bonds apart from the one that still attached him to his grandfather, but he knew that isolation would not do him any good either. So, as he used his time wisely – though not for the same purpose – he got to see his sister every morning before sitting down for hours in one of the library’s most well-hidden cubicles. Feeling his feet making Autumn leaves crack beneath his shoes, Armin made his way towards the medical labs, more precisely number six, bowing down to anyone and everyone that crossed paths with him. When he got to Mikasa’s spot, he would instantly beam in her direction as he got two sandwiches out of his bag and put one in her hands. It was because of that instant smile he cracked that he knew he had nothing to blame his sister for. He held no grudges, neither did he intend to keep his distance from the only person that still felt like home to him.

Mending his relationship with Eren was the only thing stopping him from finding happiness in the ordinary. The ghost of him still woke Armin up in the middle of the night breathless and sweaty. Although he’d discussed the idea of talking things through with Annie, the blonde man did not feel prepared to do such a task. Somewhere inside him resided a newly-found type of pride he had never been aware of until after his departure from the Yeager house. Surely, he wanted to fix things, yet he was clear about him not being the one at fault. All those months spent on his own had given him a bit of confidence about the way things had developed between them despite the dreadfulness of adjusting to loneliness. Although those thoughts lingered in his mind, he decided to try again on his birthday. After his parents’ death, the date had not been the same to him anymore, therefore being the perfect time to attempt at talking about the elephant in the room. As Saturday, November 3rd almost came to an end, Armin stood outside his siblings’ house at 10 pm, shaking nervously. Mikasa had invited him to spend some _quality_ time together to just try and get Eren to make amends. Noticing how Eren tried many times to get rid of the rough event that triggered the shorter man’s decision, Armin didn’t find it in himself to stay there for any longer. Eren had shown he wasn’t ready to face reality and, if he was completely honest, he probably wasn’t ready to accept an apology either. Whispering goodbye awkwardly as he quickly hugged Mikasa from her back, the Literature student closed the front door of their big house. 

Walking back towards the main avenue, back to taking the bus that would lead him closer to home, loud keyring sounds, more loneliness, and a wet brand-new shirt full of tears and snot, Armin stopped on his tracks. He got a reward for bottling his feelings all afternoon when he was hit by the familiar sound of Jam and its owner’s raspy voice. Coming through Up in the Air’s entrance, Armin found just a few loners sitting around the center stage. Holding his bag straps tightly, he looked around aimlessly yet frightfully. He knew Connie wouldn’t be so inviting when he was all on his own. He had heard Jean’s friends’ comments the time they had said goodbye at the bar. He felt scared of making Sasha and Connie feel bad once more by the man who had lied to all of them, pretending to be a harmless stranger. Feeling the purple LED lights hit his face, he squinted his eyes as he sat near the barman, expecting him to kick him out as soon as he’d spot him. However, as he felt a warm hand land on his right shoulder, Armin sensed a different aura come out of the white-haired man.

“What? Do I look weird with my hair like this?” Jean’s friend asked him as he looked down at Armin, not a bit of rage in his eyes. Not expecting such a random question coming from one of Marco’s mourners, Armin shook his head in silence not to potentially make things worse. As he delivered the gesture, his interlocutor decided to continue speaking while Jean tuned up his guitar in the background. “Good. Okay. I dyed it today, and I don’t want Sasha to freak out.”

“Excuse me,” Armin spoke in a little voice, his eyes roaming around the other man’s face as if looking for any signs of disapproval. “Are you not pissed that I’ve stepped on your place?”

“Did you kill Marco?” Connie asked in response, making Armin’s blood turn cold. Shivering, the college student looked at the barman with his mouth hung open.

“No,” Armin replied immediately, maybe too fast for his liking. Exhaling loudly, he felt his nostrils relax and the muscles near his lips contract. “But… well.”

“Armin, it’s not your fault,” Connie sighed, giving him the answer that he didn’t know he had been looking for so long. Pressing his palms to his cheeks to do a rapid temperature checkup, Armin looked his interlocutor straight in the eye, trying to detect any irony or disillusion. Feeling defeated when Connie raised a hand in the stage’s direction, he realized Jean’s friends had been much more merciful to him than he felt he deserved.

“Why?”

“Because it’s Jean’s joy we’re talking about here,” the white-haired man shrugged with a sly smile, “and you really don’t look like a bad guy.”

“But I lied.”

“Stop sabotaging yourself. We all lie when we don’t know what to do.”

Watching the guitarist at the back of the bar, Armin’s eyes landed on Jean’s, and he felt surprised by the musician waiting for him to look back at him. Eyebrows shooting up on the other man’s face probably was the best birthday gift he would get in years, Armin assured to himself. In spite of how nervous Jean probably was there, Armin acknowledged how talented he was at pretending nothing happened to him. Hearing him strum Jam almost as if it were made of glass, the younger man perceived a soft yet clear sound coming from the guitar. Although Armin had to usually google Jean’s songs up, for there were many he didn’t know despite being a music junkie, he was struck by a feeling he hadn’t experienced in a long time. Smiling to himself, he hummed the melody of the song to himself as he let his head sway to the rhythm of the song, mouthing the first words as Jean sang them aloud. Involuntarily letting out a giggle - not an anxious but a sincerely gleeful one - Armin blinked slowly as he leaned his head on his right hand. Seeing Jean blush hard as the lyrics left his lips, the student could do nothing but stare until the end, his eyes fixed on the singer’s the whole time. There weren’t any knots in his throat like before - or like the last time they had met, for that matter - and Armin could barely feel his fingers. The cold air coming from the entrance had made his hands cold enough for him to forget to put his gloves on, yet he didn’t mind. His chest went up and down a bit faster than usual, just like when he energetically attacked himself inside his head at midnight, yet this time the physical reaction came out of an entirely different feeling. There was a big smile on his lips, and there were no tears.

_Wouldn’t you like to, wouldn’t you like to kiss him? Wouldn’t you like to, wouldn’t you like to dance with him?_

Putting a hand on top of his chest, feeling his heart thumping at the speed of light, Armin mouthed a slow ‘thank you’ for Jean to see. Grabbing his bag once more, he waited for the song to finish to give Jean the applause he deserved. Slightly bowing down to Up in the Air’s owner for a goodbye, his tiny frame slipped through the entrance as the wind hit his face unexpectedly. Walking fast towards the bus stop, he heard quick, loud footsteps coming his way, and Armin stopped to turn around as strong, thin fingers held his wrist.

“It’s today, right?” the musician asked him hurriedly, in an almost panicky style that the student cherished way too much.

Armin nodded slowly, suddenly tired of being reminded that his supposedly _special day_ was still not over.

“I’m sorry I haven’t had the guts to go.”

“Jean,” Armin said simply, taking his pair of blue gloves out of his jacket. Putting them on, he looked up at confused hazel eyes and resumed his talk, “I will wait. I’m not in a hurry.”

“Does that mean you don’t want to see me?” Jean replied alarmed, apparently more confused than he’d been before Armin’s promise. Skimming through what he’d said, the shorter man let out a soft laugh and covered his mouth in the act.

“No, silly. I’m saying I will wait until you’re ready. If I didn’t want to see you, I wouldn’t be here with you.”

“I’ll go,” was all Jean said before Armin’s world came to a stop, noticing how everything froze for Jean as his lips touched his left temple. The sound of two promises tingling in their ears, bringing them back to Annie’s white room, their backs feeling the fluffy cushions behind them. While the strong rays of sunlight hit golden hair, Annie could also see the sunset bring the best out of chocolate eyes.

“That’s it,” the therapist heard both say as if they’d come to an agreement.

“Alright,” Annie said swiftly as she wrote down Jean’s impressions on her notebook. Never leaving his lovestruck face, she asked him about how he felt, the same question she had articulated earlier on.

“I want to see him again. I promised,” Jean whispered, his stare fixed on the plant beside her. She knew he wasn’t saying that out of the blue; he’d been clear about his feeling powerless when being anywhere near Armin.

“ _Can_ you do it, Jean?” Annie asked him, feeling worried herself about both men’s susceptibilities. As much as she had spotted a strong want in both, she feared an extended reunion could easily trigger a counterproductive reaction in them. “You must know you don't need to rush into visiting him. You can take your time before you do so. How about you arrange it with him?”

“I’ll try.” Jean’s voice came out wobbly and uncertain as he smiled in Annie’s direction. Watching through the room’s window, he saw a flock of birds fly over their building as the night sky came around their side of the world one more time. Lacing his fingers, Jean repeated his last words in his head over and over again.

“Don’t rush,” Annie said when hugging her patients goodbye, and she noticed how gratifying it was to both of them to see she wasn’t judging them as the rest had. Seeing Armin smile filled with hope and Jean look down, hiding his own, Annie made the mental note that it wasn’t plausible for them to get over one another at all.

* * *

To get anywhere past the heavy doors that welcomed anyone who came nearby, they would have to get a stronghold of the handles and push with an almighty force. At least, that was how Jean saw it since he had always struggled to open the post office’s main entrance. Somehow, the post people in there would’ve disagreed, letting out the fair argument that he was a _escuincle_ , as the cumbia and rancheras mailman used to call Jean. Stepping inside the crowded venue, he looked out for his previous bosses after he waved at the people receiving complaints by the doors. Slipping away from the angry clients and heavy bikes lying near Hanji’s office, Jean walked carefully, sticking his body to the wall opposite the disastrous setting. In and out, postpeople joked around bringing their bags full of things to be delivered. Although most of them were old men like good ol’ Mr. Smith, Jean could spot a few faces of women in the distance. He envied their strength and passion for what they did; Petra, his neighborhood’s mail carrier, stood out for her excellence in the service. Catching a glimpse of a funny nose and messy auburn hair, he ran in Hanji’s direction and poked them in the arm to get their attention.

“Monsieur Kirschstein! Long time no see!” Their voice resounded all over the post office, making Jean jump slightly. He turned around to see outside the glass cubicle, and he found everyone turning around and going back to work immediately. As sneaky as they tried to be, postpeople never achieved being subtle.

“Hi boss,” Jean whispered awkwardly, shifting in his seat right after he sat down in front of Hanji. Looking around, he found the same objects he’d seen the last time he’d been there: a huge clock, some candy, papers lying all over the big desk, and an old desktop computer to help with tracking updates. Everything remained the same in the small office expect for a photo frame that lay between both of them. Looking intrigued, Jean tried to take a peek at it unsuccessfully.

“Interested?” asked Hanji with a smile. The musician could tell they weren’t bothered at all by Jean’s curiosity. “It’s just a pic of me and Moblit. We got married a couple of weeks ago, but we didn’t tell anyone.”

“Seriously?” Jean yelled and bit his lower lip apprehensively. “Sorry. That came out too loud.”

“That’s fine. My peeps are used to me being loud you know.”

“Congratulations, boss! So that's why Mr. Berner was wearing a ring!”

“It was adventurous. Everyone should get married!” Hanji whisper-yelled in return, grabbing some tissue to clean their glasses. “Anyway, enough about me. What are you doing here? Don’t tell me you want to come back.”

“Today’s teacher’s day,” Jean said with unexpected fondness, tying his hands on his lap. Smiling to the person in front of him, he felt grateful for being able to experience the nice things that his small school offered him. “We’re having the day off, so I wanted to come around and see you guys for a bit. I could even help Mr. Ackerman.”

“Oh, don’t bother, my boy.” The few wrinkles around Hanji’s eyes lifted up as they smiled contagiously. Standing up, they reached out to pat Jean’s shoulder way too enthusiastically for it just being nine in the morning. Winking his way, the mail supervisor decided to continue speaking, “Hey, wait, maybe you could actually be of help to Levi!”

Standing up beside them, Jean followed Hanji silently. He avoided hitting other carriers who were headed to work, yet It was hard for all the people walking through the narrow corridor not to bump into each other. Turning left, they got to the dozens of wooden desks, and Jean’s eyes landed on Mr. Smith and Mr. Ackerman, who were trying to communicate over the loud music playing in the background. Thinking back, the Music teacher couldn’t understand how he’d taken such a job without complaining much. Working in those conditions was outrageous.

“Levi! Look! It’s our boy,” Hanji yelled to the back of the room. Using one hand to point at Jean’s head from his right side, they used the other to push Jean’s body closer to his old work station. Instantly, Jean didn’t know how to react. Levi was scary, and everyone knew he didn’t like being interrupted. Then again, it was his boss calling.

When Jean and Hanji stopped behind the two men, he got a huge smile from Mr. Smith. The old man stood up to hug Jean and asked him how he was doing so far. Although he was joking when he said that he could come back anytime, the younger man heard a grunt from a still seated Mr. Ackerman. Quickly checking out how letters were distributed in his desk, his eyes widened at the sight of a short pile of blue envelopes tightly packed, an elastic band wrapped around it. At that moment, Jean wondered why Petra hadn’t taken those to Armin’s since his house was part of her route. Opening his mouth to speak, he was interrupted by Levi’s elbow as it showed up between them, his arm pointing in the desk’s direction.

“Then I bet you’ll help me with these,” the short man said to him, turning around just enough to get the pack of letters Jean had been staring at. “No fucking clue where sweet Armin is living now.”

“Levi, you should at least pay respects to him before going down to business,” the blonde man beside him spoke, shaking his head disapprovingly as he faced the young musician. “It’s Teacher’s Day today! How has it been so far? Are kids too messy? Do you like it? Do you want to quit?”

“It’s alright,” Jean spoke in a small voice, intimidated by the short, grumpy man still waiting to know about Armin’s whereabouts. “I like my new job, Mr. Smith. Thanks for your words.”

“Jean,” Mr. Ackerman interrupted again, though he did not sound as bossy as the first time. “You know how I am. When I heard Eren telling me that the boy didn’t live there anymore, I couldn’t understand anything. I wanted to kick that boy’s ass. Who could possibly get pissed off by Armin?”

“No idea,” Jean shrugged, putting his hands in his pants’ back pockets. “Shouldn’t Petra take those to his house?”

“What? Petra?” Levi opened his eyes like plates and called for his colleague.

As soon as he pronounced her name, a red-haired head appeared from behind one of the desks on the other side of the office. Giving the man a side glance, she left her seat as Hanji made some room for her. Five people crowded in their corridor? Never heard of before. Feeling the air getting stuffy around them, Jean regretted asking such a stupid question. Of course, Petra didn’t know about Armin! He only received online mail, and he’d been clear about it to Jean many times before. There was no possible way his mail carrier would know about his existence in that side of town if he never showed up on the streets or left home way too early. Staring at her pleadingly, Jean scratched the back of his neck and let out a soft giggle.

“Hi Jeanbo,” she whispered as she smiled in his direction, ruffling his hair just a bit. After all those years knowing each other, she’d been like an aunt from a different family to him. “Mr. Ackerman, what is it?”

“Has anyone moved into your area lately?”

“No?” Petra mumbled as she narrowed her eyes, probably going over all the houses she gave mail to. At least that was how it looked to confused Jean. “Back in late August, a house was rented by someone I haven’t delivered anything for. That’s all I can think of. You know my neighborhood is just the same people from decades ago.”

“So no mail for that house then?”

“No, sir. Did you get something I should’ve delivered?” Petra sighed, crossing her arms on her chest. “God, Levi, I’m sorry if I did. I’ve had a hard time staying on task lately.”

“That OK,” her interlocutor replied, and Jean couldn’t believe he was being decent to at least one person in the room. From what it looked like, Ms. Ral respected him way too much, and he didn’t want to let her down. “Just go back. I have some things to write down for you to keep in mind. I’ll leave the notes on your desk later.”

As the woman shoot Jean a bright smile, she quickly went back to work. It was already getting too late for everyone who remained in the office, and they all needed to leave before 10 am if they wanted to get back home at a decent time of day. Only the two men in front of him stayed for a longer time, but that was because they used their cars to transport the mail they had to deliver throughout the day. Just your classic experienced old men delivering mail for more than twenty years.

“So, Jeanbo,” Hanji smiled behind him, already making use of something that shouldn’t have left Petra’s mouth. “Do you know where this Armin lives now? Levi is kinda waiting for you to spill the beans.”

“It’s 74 Sina Street,” Jean said, taking a pen from Mr. Smith’s desk and one of Mr. Ackerman’s post-its. Writing down the address, he grunted as he realized his home nickname was close to being known by not only his boss but Eren Yeager himself. “Look, it’s fine, I can take those to his house. Just, boss, Mr. Ackerman, don’t call me that ever again. Please.”

“You’re still so young and afraid!” the blue-eyed man sitting to his left commented in a sigh, smiling back at him honestly joyfully. It was like he could see right through him though they barely knew each other.

Avoiding everyone’s glances, he looked down blushing and took the blue envelopes in his hands. Unaware of what else he could add to the conversation, Jean simply bowed down in front of his previous colleagues and thanked Hanji once again for welcoming him so cheerfully. Putting the missives in his bag, he waved goodbye at everyone else and got the key to unlock his bike outside the office. Getting a yell that sounded like a “Happy Teacher’s Day” coming from the Yeagers mailman, the musician rolled his eyes, grinning. Levi was not stupid.

Cycling down the avenue didn’t leave him breathless at all. It took him around half an hour to return homeward, avoiding fast cars and disrespectful bus drivers who would’ve done anything to finish their shifts as soon as possible. On his way back to the neighborhood, he stopped a few times to call Armin, but no one replied. The adrenaline rush he felt from riding a bike made Jean think he’d been too impulsive; he could’ve perfectly left the small stack to Petra with the correct address. However, somewhere inside him, he knew he was doing it because he wanted to see Armin again. Regardless of the immense emotional value those envelopes kept within, the teacher’s priority was all about making up for the time he had spent building up the courage to visit him. Turning left on Sina Street, Jean leaped off his bicycle and walked slowly beside it. In the worst-case scenario, he could at least get Armin the letters he had probably looked forward to reading. Although they never talked about the time they’d found each other on the bus, he was sure something strange was going on with the younger man’s grandpa. Armin had always made it clear that he wasn’t up for visits because he risked too much every time he’d tried to get anywhere near Mr. Arlert. Of course, Jean did not intend to be nosy about family issues when he knew Armin already had plenty; it just wasn’t his style. Checking the street numbers as he went on, he stopped in front of a beautifully decorated house with two little gnomes standing right behind the fence. Creeped out, he realized it was 72 Sina Street and that the house he was staring at was similarly painted, yet entirely different to what Armin’s looked like. Before he took a few steps forward, he fished his phone in his left pocket and saw that he’d received no replies whatsoever. Trying for the last time, he rang the bell that could be found right on top of the fence door of 74 Sina Street, a pretty pastel pink house with a few tiny plants and bushes around it.

At first, he didn’t notice the black bags below those blue orbs, yet that had been just out of a habit. Of all things he would check out in Armin, his eyes came in the first place. Even then, conversations being scarce like never before, the ocean surrounding his pupils was the only thing that kept him updated on Armin’s feelings. When he got past the excitement of seeing him again in daylight, he looked at the face the shorter man was making as he opened his house’s front door. Opening his bag, Jean got the blue envelopes in his left hand and raised his arm to show Armin the reason behind his visit. Definitely, something had happened to him, yet he didn’t look capable enough of sharing. When Armin’s eyes found his left hand up, they glowed up as if the light hadn’t been absent in them ever since they saw each other. Smiling widely, he ran to the fence and unlocked the door, opening it just for the sake of not being rude. Jean just looked down and felt unexplainably nervous and helpless as if some random monsoon had caught him in a swimsuit. Feeling too much just wasn’t part of delivering stuff.

“Jean, you shouldn’t have,” Armin practically yelled out of joy opposite him as he handed Mr. Arlert’s letters to him. “Did you really take the time to go all the way there to get these?”

“Why are you home?” Jean asked trying not to admit missing his previous job just a bit to get nostalgic about it. God knows that, for the most part, he missed it because it was what had given him the chance to get closer to Armin.

“Bertholdt will give me his notes,” Armin explained succinctly, trying not to get into too much detail. Having his love interest find out he was a loser wasn’t part of the plan just yet. “Now, I was waiting for him to come around. Why are you here? This is so unexpected!”

“Well, l actually had a hard time remembering which house it was, but yours is uglier than the one next door. Lucky guess.”

Hearing Armin laugh loudly was also unexpected to him, yet he couldn’t do much more than just trying to hide his face, blushing furiously. Standing right where they were, he knew he wouldn’t be able to join Armin, yet it felt quite alright that way. Leaning on the rusty exterior of Armin’s fence, he towered over the tiny man’s fragile figure. His face had gone back to opaque eyes and a weird gesture he couldn’t decipher. Maybe he was having a hard time at school and did not want to see anyone.

“I went to the post office today,” Jean declared, trying to make Armin get rid of any negative thoughts for as long as time would let him. Looking up, his blue eyes found Jean’s, and a blush crept upon his cheeks.

“Wait, did you give up on teaching?”

“No! What? No. No fuckin’ way.”

“Oh, okay,” Armin giggled, shaking a hand as if dispersing the air between them. “Why were you there?”

Jean, of course, didn’t feel like being congratulated for something he still wasn’t sure of. “This was my day off. Who would’ve thought teachers got these, huh?”

“So you just went there?”

“Yup. I’m glad I did – Ms. Ral didn’t know you had moved into her delivery area, and Mr. Ackerman kept trying to get these letters into your previous house,” Jean said, being careful not to let Armin know any of the trials and tribulations the short, old man had undergone. Deep inside, he was thankful Levi had decided not to simply throw them in the Yeagers’ garden carelessly. Probably, he knew all the shit they had all gone through by the time he received Mr. Arlert’s replies to Armin.

“So you updated them about _my_ address?” Armin whispered, seemingly impressed as he showed Jean a bright smile. “Isn’t that cute?”

“Well, it’s not like anyone else knew you’re used to getting online mail. I had to save the day,” Jean wiggled his eyebrows, making the other man laugh again. Although their conversation meant absolutely nothing, he felt pleased with himself. That was an understatement. Seeing Armin there, just like that, so close and open, he felt the happiest man alive.

“Thanks, Jean. I owe you one.”

“You owe me nothing but a life together,” Jean thought, yet when he felt his right eye wink on its own, he realized he’d said it aloud. With his cheeks flushed, he laughed about his comment. Did he sound like a 30-year-old? Yes, he did. Nevertheless, as he felt Armin’s arms wrap around his waist, he felt like not breathing any longer. Jean Kirschstein dying of a heart attack right then and there? Predictable.

“How are you?” came Armin’s question from his chest as Jean felt his breathing get through the thin fabric of his shirt. “How are things?”

“So much better when you’re around. I’m just really happy to see you,” the musician let out sincerely, not filtering any of his words anymore. “I feel even better now that you’re just a 5-minute walk away from me. Are you sure it’s alright for me to be here?”

“Of course, I am.”

“So you don’t mind?”

“I would never.”

* * *

When Jean got back to work the following day, he felt determined to make things work. Lately, his children had been a bit moody around each other because of romantic letdowns happening all around them. The last time they had seen their teacher, they had completely forgotten to carry their instruments around with them, which had meant Jean telling them off for not being responsible enough. Unfortunately to the young people in front of him, it was a sort of love-themed week since a new school anniversary was coming up. Every year, they were supposed to be all lovey-dovey just for the sake of giving the week the importance it deserved. Nevertheless, as he stood in front of the board, the faces of his students showed no interest in what they were supposed to be celebrating.

“Mr. K., you know how awful it’s been lately,” he heard Gabi complain right after he greeted everyone. “Please, don’t tell us we’ll be practicing the song just because of our Love week.”

Everyone around him had started tuning up their instruments almost mechanically, heartlessly so that Jean had to yell for everyone to stay in silence and right where they were.

“Kids, gather ‘round,” he said more calmly as he connected his laptop to the projector and set up the dusty speakers that were abandoned at one of the back corners of the classroom. “Sit on the floor. We have two plans for today. Stay cross-legged and, please, behave like humans. You know you can do great things.”

“Sir, is this related to the song? What if the film makes it worse for us to play it?” Falco asked him once he had followed every instruction. Waiting for every teen to sit as comfortably as they could near him, he turned off the lights of the classroom and sat down as well.

“Look, guys. I know things have… sucked lately. We’ll be watching a film you might be interested in today, and it will probably ignite your inner musical fire. We’ll take that passion to practice after,” Jean explained briefly, doing his best not to drift away from what mattered. “Love isn’t just about whatever’s been going on lately. Betraying friends? Nope. Speaking for others about stuff that doesn’t concern you? No. It can be many things, but definitely not those.”

“So what’s love for you then, Mr. Kirschstein?” asked Halil, probably the most reasonable student of them all.

“Love is… Well, love is what we’re practicing. Love is giving it your all. Love is waiting until it gets better. Love is doing things together,” Jean whispered more to himself than as a real answer to what the teenager had asked him. “Love isn’t only about crushes. Love can go in so many directions? You can’t even imagine.”

He was prepared to be asked about more details, yet when he lifted his head to see everyone in the room, he found smiles in most of the students’ faces. It felt to him like they had understood his message one way or the other, though he hadn’t been precise at all.

“Anyway… that was cheesy. Shall we, kids?”

Getting a loud “Yes!” for a response, he crawled all the way to the back of the group to keep an eye on everybody. The film projected on the board showed a red-haired man playing a broken guitar, and the song definitely sucked. He hadn’t seen it himself, but something inside of him trusted the younger man’s judgment. The film was called _Once_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jean is a hopeless romantic... OK. Two more to go.  
> I would love it if you could tell me what you've thought about this fic so far!!!!
> 
> It's the first time I manage to finish a long one 🥺🥺🥺 yassss
> 
> Thanks a lot for reading!


	20. i'm not leaving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _show me that dreamer i love  
>  let me see the fire in your eyes  
> let the moment pass, sleep a while here in my arms  
> 'cause i'm not leaving_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can listen to this if you'd like: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=snDboxweVc4

“We’re going out,” Jean had announced to his students once they finished rehearsing the entire song. “I’ve tried to get your parents’ permission to go somewhere special.”

“Don’t tell us what I think it’s going to be,” Gabi had smiled at him in return, feeling pleased and elbowing Falco with the slightest hope of him noticing the underlying facts of Jean's declaration.

“That’s what it is, so we must do our best.”

* * *

Before Armin and Jean could even realize it, the strong winds and snow came to give them a hard time. Each to their own, they welcomed the Winter season in awful conditions. While one had midterms left to face, the other tried to come up with ways to get parental permission for a road trip that was nothing like it. Armin’s soul dwelled in oversized sweaters and the hope of seeing Jean again, yet rain had not been of any help lately. Although Jean felt terribly guilty about not fulfilling his promise and personal expectations, there had been absolutely no way for him to visit Armin again. He’d been busy, he would tell himself every time. However, no matter how hard rain was falling down on his cheap shoes, the freezing water invading his striped socks just to give him colds, there had been no day that he hadn’t tried approaching 72 Sina Street. Whenever it wasn’t raining, he would admire the big house from the other side of the street, half-hoping for Armin to appear behind the old oakwood door. The wind would just make his locks sway back and forth and the occasional sneeze would come out of his mouth, the thought of investing in better clothes popping in his mind. Despite the million scenarios he saw in his head, nothing came easy to him. The easier way of getting closer, yet not enough, was when it rained. Those days, he was sure that no one in their right mind would be out in the garden or waiting for someone to come around. Those days, Jean chose to walk home along Armin’s house’s sidewalk. Knowing that no one would be there to call him, knowing that he wouldn’t be courageous enough, he just felt content enough with the idea of being anywhere near Armin. Even if it meant not seeing him, that was for certain.

Every time he arrived home, he would have some excuse to arrive all wet, snowed under, or simply freezing cold. Mrs. Kirschstein usually stopped him in his tracks to ask why he hadn’t called for a taxi, but Jean would always turn down any conversations saying that there wasn’t enough money for that. Jean knew Armin wouldn’t have been happy about knowing he took most of the damage for such a lousy and unnecessary sacrifice. Then again, thinking of Armin was another one of his lousy sacrifices.

“I said I’m fine,” Jean whined one night, taking his coat off and setting his guitar’s case on one of the living room’s armchairs. “You know I don’t like to waste money in crap.”

“I don’t think that’s all you have to say. It’s always a mystery to me that you come home so late anyway.”

“Walking’s good.”

“Jean, the bus stop is just around the corner,” Mrs. Kirschstein insisted, exasperated. “Are you hiding something from me?”

The musician had felt the thrill of hiding something so personal before. He’d felt it while his dad talked to him about chicks in the rustic way he did, and he’d felt it the night before Marco’s passing. His sexuality was never an issue to him personally, yet there were lots of things about it that could piss off the rest of his family. His dad was a cop after all, and his older brother wanted to join the military forces to make the Kirschsteins proud. His mother was an old country lady who had had a tough upbringing. In sum, there was no way for him to have a good time while confessing that boys also had a place in his heart. What if his brother judged him? What if he never wanted to share their room again? Just like the other ignorant assholes at school, he would overreact about improbabilities. Nevertheless, before Jean had tried to deny any connection to the love letter he’d just gotten from a boy in his class, Marco had already stated what he thought.

“But you want to be a-“

“So?” Marco had asked back then, and Jean bit back a loud sigh. “That doesn’t mean I’ll be heartless… or brainless.”

“Doesn’t it bother you I could like dick?”

“Well, now that’s surprising,” Marco had laughed at him, forgetting the politeness he was so well known for. “I didn’t have any idea you could actually be attracted to genitalia. Good for you; you can find those anywhere.”

“Man, that’s not what I meant,” Jean had blushed in return, yet it had been almost impossible to him not to laugh along at the thought his phrasing evoked.

“It’s alright, Jean, I promise. You don’t have to explain yourself at all,” Marco had assured him that night, not commenting any further on what he’d just discovered. Feeling as relaxed as he had back then. Jean saw the memory fade away from his mind as he stared into his mother’s eyes.

The clock ticked on the kitchen wall, and the sound echoed all around them.

“You’re dating someone, aren’t you?”

“I… I might be seeing someone,” he admitted shyly, yet never averting his stare. “I’m not so sure what to do about it, but I guess I’ll do something soon.”

“Boy or girl?”

“Mom.”

“Marco did tell me everything about you, you know?” he heard his mother ask rhetorically as she spent most of her energy keeping herself from sobbing. The memory of a death she would’ve preferred going through was still too present. “Your bad-boy façade was nothing; we could always see right through you.”

* * *

Armin watched outside his window pretty often, and he was privileged enough to have thick curtains protect him from his visitor. It didn’t necessarily mean that Jean’s presence was unwelcome; in fact, it was entirely the opposite. However, there was something within the student that stopped him from running outside his house just to yell at Jean for them to have a nice little chat. He knew things weren’t meant to go that way. He knew Jean wasn’t prepared enough to have any sort of discussion about their romantic involvement, so he made it his mission to keep waiting. As much as he longed for his company, Armin refrained from letting rationality go. None of the actions he could take to get back together would mend the way their relationship had developed, and Jean still had a lot of healing left to do. Sometimes, it felt as futile and aimless as Penelope’s strategy to remain faithful to Odysseus. However, probably as strongly as she did, he felt like it was the right thing to do. Jean was worth his struggles.

He had commented on his issues to Annie several times, though he knew very well there were some things she would definitely not give him any clues about. Time and time again, his therapist had done her best to tell him that everything would eventually be alright, be it them getting together or going separate ways. Although Armin did not see any good in splitting forever, for he felt like a huge part of his soul would be stored in Jean and taken away forever, he remained calm about the possibility of a return.

Singing to himself while planning his last essay’s topic sentences, he drew the curtains back to watch the sunset behind the other side of the city. As he typed down some of his notes furiously, Armin let his head move from side to side to the slow melody playing in his bedroom. The perks of living all by himself mainly implied that he was free to do whatever he wanted without bothering anyone else. Those days had been hard and stressful to him, not just because of his academic deadlines but also his will to let all his efforts go down the drain. More than ever, he had thought of crossing the street just to tug Jean’s arm and give him an ultimatum. As much waiting as he had already done, he mentally knew he was capable of more. Nevertheless, his emotions betrayed him every time Jean walked down his street, usually making a fool out of himself as he refused to carry any umbrellas with him. At first, he’d thought that Jean didn’t have any, but after having left one hanging on his fence, he realized he just didn’t intend to bring one along. Several times, he’d stopped by his house just to look at the object, yet he’d never looked like he would take it. If there was something Armin was sure of, it was that Jean had strong moral principles. That afternoon, while typing out his ideas, he looked out just to find Jean’s broken figure holding on to the icy bars protecting his home. Watching him from afar, Armin’s eyes roamed around the small portion he could see of Jean’s face until he found the other’s hazel orbs calling for him like they hadn’t in so long.

* * *

Opening the elevator door, he plopped himself out onto the first floor and into the empty street. Fishing for his phone inside his big leather pockets, he sniffed the droplets that had threatened to fall down his cheeks like gallons. Once he found the device, he held it to his heart just for the sake of regaining some sanity after the session. Although he’d never thought it possible, he had finally seen things from a new perspective. As new as it was, he had never expected it to hurt so much. Regardless of how painful it had felt to have Armin lying right in the middle of opening up to him, he finally got to understand the real issue behind it all.

_are you home?_

He dreaded himself for putting both of them in so much pain and guilt. Armin never deserved it, and neither did he. All the obstacles he’d put between them just to deal with loss were something Jean would never forgive himself for. It had been only he who had allowed Eren to take part of his life away from him. That day, he had admitted it to Annie and had promised not to let him take any more of it. It had always been in Jean’s power to cope with Marco’s death, never in anyone else’s hands and he wished he’d known sooner. However, as he unlocked his bike and got onto it, the fresh air reminded him of what had to be done next. Of all things, the first one to do was to apologize to Armin for the uncalled sorrow he’d so willingly put him through at times. Turning around to get to the main avenue, he quickly swiped away any tears from his face, focusing on the road. Bearing a crucial mission in mind, he gave it his all to concentrate on pedaling as fast as he could, avoiding the traffic jams that started to form at that time of the afternoon. Just a few streets away from Armin’s, he unbuttoned his collar and folded his sleeves as he stopped to check his phone. Apparently, the younger man was not open to engaging in any sort of conversation, but Jean was sure he would hear him if it was face-to-face interaction. Getting on his bicycle once last time, he soon found himself just a few seconds away from Armin’s pastel-colored house. Taking deep breaths, he did his best to withhold the huge sobs he’d attempted at swallowing back at Annie’s. Grabbing the tall fence before him, he looked down at his feet before his eyes found not only an open window but Armin’s shocked stare going in his direction. As if struck by lightning, Jean remained immobile by the fence door while he watched the other man running around his room before heading downstairs.

What was left for him to say? Was he worthy of Armin’s love? Was there anything he could do to help repair their bond? Was there any simple way of apologizing? Jean’s mind raced as he waited silently, his bike pressed to his right hip painfully. When the door opened in front of him and he saw Armin carefully walk towards him, he felt for a second as if he’d lost his last chance. His blue eyes looked opaque to him; they’d completely lost their shine, which quickly set off the alarm inside of him to just give up and go. However, he’d done enough fleeing, and there wasn’t more running away he could do without having Armin go a different direction. Through his earphones, Adam Lambert’s loud voice sang the last verses to _What do you Want from Me?_ and made shivers run down his spine as he watched the other man take a few steps closer to where he stood. As the song he was listening came to an end, he took his earphones off and put them inside one of his pants pockets rapidly. Seeing Armin so near him yet so far made his mind go wild. The thought of always being like that, separated by something so strong yet uncalled for, had already driven Jean crazy. Building up enough courage to look at Armin in the eyes, he felt himself already crumbling down. Not being able to hold back any longer, he lowered his head to Armin's height and stared into his eyes pleadingly.

"May I come in?" Jean asked him, and he'd never sounded more polite or formal around him. The big pair of eyes that struck him in the sunset made his blood run cold as the musician opened his eyes widely. "Could you let me in?" he suggested for a change in words, his hands letting go of the bars beneath that no longer suffered from their permanent frostbite. Jean's touch had been warm enough to let the metal resist the Winter cold.

"What brings you here?" he heard Armin say in a whisper as though he'd become breathless. Raising his chocolate eyes back to the orbs that enclosed two oceans, he smiled genuinely then. Whichever reason that could come to mind would not have been sufficient to fool Armin and his intellect.

"I needed to."

Standing there in silence, they looked at each other impatiently. If it hadn't been for the house's fence doing its job well, Jean would have trespassed the place just to get a bit of Armin. However long it had been since their musical night, Jean hadn't been able to forget about him. Not then in the middle of the night, or at school while correcting Gabi on the guitar, or while coming back home every single day after managing to teach all those kids. As much as it hurt him then, Armin was what he'd been looking forward to seeing again the most. He wasn't capable of telling himself any more lies. Blinking in the blonde's direction, he followed every one of his movements as the loudness of the keys against the fence gave him the sort of music he'd been longing to hear.

"Jean, I'm only doing this because you must be freezing."

"You're not," he whispered needily in return, closing the fence behind him right after he set foot on Armin’s garden. "I know you're not."

"If this is about us-" Armin prompted intrigued, though something in his eyes turned raw and expressionless. Jean hated it when he did that.

"It will always be," Jean interrupted briefly, tormentedly managing to get a whisper out of his lips. "I needed to see you. I need to give you an apology. I need to say sorry.”

“What’s that about?” Armin asked, feeling suffocated by the taller man’s sudden proximity. As much as he’d mourned not having him around, doing so then just put him off.

“Armin, I- I did things the wrong way.”

Although the situation was already confusing enough for the Literature student, he decided to stay close to Jean while listening attentively. Fortunately, no neighbors were there to listen to what the Music teacher would say, so Armin relaxed and paid attention to his interlocutor. Hearing the other man’s low voice beating around the bush for dear life, he smiled to himself to try and decode what Jean meant. Feeling frozen on his spot at the mention of Eren’s name, he realized what conclusions the older man had come to get from their distance. Looking up at him and brushing the tears welling up on his tired eyes, Armin took deep breaths not to lose focus.

“I can’t allow _him_ to keep me away from you. You are you, and I can’t go on pretending I don’t want to spend the rest of my days with you.”

"You're not sure," Armin replied, shaking his head with bright eyes and a disbelieving look. They had already been dancing around each other for so long that it just wasn't healthy for either of them. Sighing, Armin hung his head low, seemingly defeated in Jean's eyes. "Jean, you aren't. Remember what you told me? We can't keep on-"

"Shit, Armin, don't decide for me," Jean growled, taking Armin’s shoulders with both hands. Lowering his face near Armin’s level, he looked straight into those blue orbs he’d missed wholeheartedly. "I want you. I've come here every night to just tell you, but I wasn't brave enough before. Armin, please, let me."

"Are you-" the shorter man's voice cracked, his eyes becoming teary with wet eyelashes. Not being certain about whether he was interrupting or if the other man had stopped in his tracks, he let go to snake an arm around his waist.

"What can I do to convince you?" Jean whispered as he lowered his head just close enough to lightly bump their noses together. Getting Armin frozen beneath his touch, the musician waited for any reactions from him as his hazel eyes remained fixed on the college student's.

Having two drums for hearts in their chests, Jean and Armin stared into each other’s eyes waiting for anything to stop them. While Jean hoped for Armin to push him away for having disregarded his emotions, Armin expected Jean to turn around and give up on him because of his uncertainty and lack of confidence. Although they waited for the other to act as they’d hoped for, their bodies crashed together desperately. Armin’s hands reached for Jean’s temples, holding them tightly as their lips met softly. Both of them felt too scared to make any moves further, and the taller man realized then that their anxiety was portrayed by a mere peck on the lips. He let his right hand move to Armin’s hair just to kiss him harder, holding the blonde locks carefully between his fingers. Aware of their surroundings, the younger man leaned into Jean’s touch, making the gap wider between their faces again.

“Come in,” Armin whispered almost imperceptively, looking down at Jean’s lips as red covered his button nose.

Feeling his fingers intertwine with long, slender ones, he walked the musician into his home, kicking his shoes off by the entrance to reveal mismatched socks. Smiling to himself, Jean followed his lead upstairs while the knot in his stomach didn’t hurt that much anymore. There wasn’t much guilt as there was joy inside him. He had the privilege to have a look at the younger man’s face directly once more, taking in every single detail of his being. Stepping on the second floor, he felt Armin let go of his hands when he realized he needed to open the door to what seemed like his bedroom. Feeling the spaces between his fingers, Jean looked up to observe Armin’s room as it welcomed him so warmly. The window from which they had spotted each other remained open, the curtains moving lightly because of the wind pushing right through them. Sitting on the edge of his bed, Armin waited for Jean to say something, anything that would bring him back to reality. It all seemed like a dream since he’d longed for Jean for such a long time. However, when he felt the older man’s embrace, he stopped wishing for any reality checks. Jean had finally decided; that was reality.

* * *

When Armin woke up at six-thirty in the morning, shaken by the sensation of falling down a well, he found a view he had only dreamed of seeing. Beside him lay the man he loved most, giving up just a bit of his decency to grant him with some soft snoring that got to his heart. Watching Jean in his sleep, he felt the air get caught in his throat, making him unable to breathe properly. With a smile forming on his lips, Armin let out a sob that was meant to be nothing but a sigh while he placed his left hand to the musician’s bare chest. Meanwhile, he let his right hand fly to his mouth as he did his best to bite back a whimper. Taking the opportunity while Jean was still asleep, Armin felt the tears he’d withheld when meeting the other man again the night before and let them fall. As the teardrops left trails down his cheeks, he focused his eyes on the guitarist’s peaceful sleeping face. Brushing his hair carefully enough not to wake him up, he felt the need to touch it as to double-check that what he was living was real. As it all felt like a dream to him, he let his fingers graze into Jean’s hair locks until he felt some shifting coming from the other man’s body.

“Armin,” a low voice sounded in his bedroom, and he couldn’t believe things had developed in such a way. “Armin, are you crying?”

“Just a bit.”

“Then that’s a hardcore yes,” he heard Jean whisper in front of him. Watching him propped up in one elbow, his sleepy eyes opening just to check he was doing well, Armin felt his heart flutter and couldn’t stop the tears from falling.

“This wasn’t the way things were supposed to be,” the blonde man admitted looking into tired hazel eyes. “I am so scared that you’ll leave in just a few hours to never come back. The worst part is that I’d totally understand.”

“Wait. Too much info. Remember this little guy is slow,” Jean joked while pointing at his head before turning away to yawn. Looking back into Armin’s eyes, he took the hand that rested on top of his head. Watching Armin feeling visibly gloomy made it a harder task for a person who was just waking up. “Don’t tell me you’re overthinking about us.”

“What else should I do?”

“Be my boyfriend,” Jean scrubbed his eyes with his knuckles to feel more awake and to also avoid looking into Armin’s eyes while he proposed something he’d rehearsed more than half a year ago. “Please, please, I don’t want us to go through that shit again.”

To Armin, it sounded so sudden and unreal that he started crying. Looking at the time, Jean’s eyes went wide when he noticed he had little time to prepare before school. Taking his eyes back to the young man lying next to him, he stayed there silently. It all felt like walking on eggshells to him as well, so he could understand what Armin meant fully. Regardless of any fears he could have, there was something he was sure about: he didn’t want to be away from Armin anymore. Kissing the blonde man’s forehead softly, he stood up to dress quickly. Fortunately to him, that day his students had extracurricular activities during the first thirty minutes, so he would still be on time.

“Armin,” Jean spoke again, trying not to sound hurriedly while buttoning his shirt. “Love, we can’t keep wasting time mourning a relationship that hasn’t even started. I love you. Always have. Please, believe me when I say this.”

“You do?”

“Duh, of course, I’m saying this. Hello, you’re not dreaming.”

“No, uh- I meant-“

“I love you,” Jean smiled up at Armin, tying his shoelaces loosely and carelessly. “And I wish I had time to stay here and say it a million times, but I gotta go change clothes and run back to school.”

“Are you sure?” Armin’s voice wavered as the younger man tried to make sure of the new information he’d longed for. Unintentionally, he sounded just as desperate as he had the night before.

“Alright, dummy. I hate repeating myself,” Jean said while fixing his shirt’s collar and ruffling his lover’s hair. “I’ll let you know when I get to school. I’ll be back as soon as my day at work ends.”

Receiving a quick kiss from Jean, the college student opened his eyes widely and remained silent, making enough space in his throat for the air he breathed to come through. Looking lost as Jean’s steps sounded loud while going downstairs, he grinned when he heard a final “I love you!” coming from that tall, moody man he’d met in a shockingly different context.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more. It's felt so good to write this.


	21. loving you's the antidote

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the end of their project.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, listen to this when the big thing begins. You'll realize exactly when, I'm sure: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6lDMWRmMfsQ

“Drum kit?”

“Yes, Mr. Kirschstein.”

“Mics and stands?”

“Yup.”

“Amps, cables… Your keyboard?” Jean looked around the Music room, trying to catch his student off guard. Looking at the annoyed teenager, he realized there wasn’t much left for him to be a nuisance about. They had made sure to get everything on time.

“In Sasha’s car. Jesus, Jean, can we go already?” Reiner interrupted impatiently while holding his younger brother from his shoulder. “Are you doing this or not? We’re all waiting.”

“There is nothing wrong about wanting it to be perfect.”

“Mr. K, we got that covered,” Gabi beamed up at him, patting his back gently. Of all things he’d been trained for, Jean would have never thought a child would be calming him down prior to something his children had to present. However, in all his years of training, no one would’ve ever told him he’d do something so incredibly compromising. If he’d been told about his future plans back at uni, he would’ve laughed. It just sounded far-fetched, even to him right then in the middle of the empty room while his students waited for him outside the tiny school.

Bringing Jam along with Falco’s guitar, he felt something temporarily knock him off mentally. It had felt like a punch to his stomach right as he stepped outside the front building, closing the tall fence behind him. Having Mr. Berner wave at the group with a big smile on his face, he realized the amount of exposure he and his students would have, and it scared him to death. With trembling hands, he passed Falco both guitar cases and ran with him to the back of Sasha and Connie’s car. Both of his friends had been waiting for the children to put all the instruments and the props needed for their show to turn out okay. Getting an affectionately encouraging thumbs up from the bald man sitting on the passenger seat, he felt much more relieved. Telling Falco to wait for him in Reiner’s van, he stayed behind just to make sure he was making the right choice.

“Don’t back down now,” Sasha giggled and lowered his head apologetically. “Think of the huge opportunity you’re giving these kids.”

“I know. Do you think it’ll be alright?”

“More than alright,” said Connie, lightly bumping his shoulder with his left fist. “It’ll be legendary. I can feel it in my tummy.”

“Take these,” Sasha interrupted, getting a chocolate bar out of a gigantic bag and passing her boyfriend some candy. The rest of the bars made way into Jean’s hands, and he received them with a blank stare. Sasha had never been one to give food away so easily. “I eat chocolate when I’m nervous, okay? They can help you guys as well.”

“We’d better go now,” Jean murmured, hugging the bag in his arms. “Remember how to get there?”

“More than you do,” Sasha winked at him, getting a sly smile back on his lips. When Connie’s window went up to avoid getting his friend some messy hair, he heard Reiner yell his name from the vehicle in front of his friends’. Running towards it, he opened the passenger seat’s door and got inside, looking back where his school band sat comfortably, rehearsing the lyrics of the song.

Giving Reiner a quick nod, although it had all felt chaotic at the beginning, he went back to thinking about how it all started. Jean hadn’t once thought of their performance getting real, of his children mastering the musical’s song and of him being the one leading such a great group. Try as he might, he couldn’t believe that he was a mailman who did occasional gigs to get recognized and teach people some culture at the beginning of the year. He’d grown into a better person. Although his kindness, patience, and optimism had yet to be improved, he had come a long way and he could finally see it for himself. Feeling Reiner’s van’s motor purr somewhere near them as they made their way to the university located on the other side of town. While the air moved his hair tenderly and refreshingly, he went over the lyrics of the song himself, listening to his students’ conversations from behind. He knew Reiner had commented on some parts of Jean’s plan to his younger siblings, but he was surprised to realize that they had kept quiet about what they were to do. Whether it was out of respect or disbelief, he didn’t know, yet he mentally thanked both teenagers for keeping the details to themselves.

On their way to the campus just outside the capital, they got to drive down the main avenue that connected his workplace to Armin’s. His thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the ringing of Reiner’s phone and loud ringtone coming right after it. Staring at the blonde, bulky man next to him, Jean waited for the noise to cease. As soon as he got a hold of the device to make up for his friend’s driving, he saw that the caller was the only person who could keep them informed about Armin’s whereabouts. After the night they spent together, Jean got to know a bit more about Armin’s unhealthy academic practices, and right there in Reiner’s car, he still wasn’t so sure about the younger man’s arrival.

“Should I start praying?” Jean asked nervously, looking through the rearview mirror to find Sasha’s car following them close enough not to get lost. They had no idea where they were going at all, it seemed.

“He’s in a really good mood today,” Bertholdt whispered in return, which triggered some carefree laughter coming out of Reiner’s mouth. “I’m near a vending machine. Will you guys need any food? Drinks?”

“So he’s there?”

“Yeah. Well, not _here_ beside me, of course. Will you be needing anything?”

“No. OK, good,” Jean nodded, letting out the air he’d been holding rather involuntarily. “Please, just tell him whatever and come get us in ten more minutes. We’ll need all the help we can get.”

Saint Rose’s Music teacher felt weirdly satisfied by the way things had turned out to be. Hearing the children talk behind them, he turned his head around when Armin’s campus showed up just a few minutes away from them. Pointing at the huge, ancient buildings and magnificent gardens, he promised his students to have a walk around if they managed to have some extra time. Lowering the windows at the backseats, Reiner smiled enthusiastically at the teenagers that swarmed around in delight. Although the institution they were headed to was one of the best in the country, it wasn’t so easy for students to get in. Jean himself had had lots of issues in his teenage years when he’d tried to enroll in the Music program. From what he’d been told, only the best musicians of the country were admitted there, and he definitely wasn’t one of them. Despite the bittersweet feeling he got from seeing the mighty infrastructure before them, looking all glorious and bright, Jean had a goal in mind that differed greatly from being proud. Staring at his shoes, he ducked below the tiny mirror on top of his head to tie his shoelaces and uncuff his pants.

“Man, I feel like I’m surrounded by kindergartners,” Reiner distracted him from his thoughts rather abruptly as they turned to park the van at the university’s parking lot. Watching out for Sasha and Connie, Jean’s friend left enough space for the other two to find their place in the barren territory. “Can’t believe you cope with these kids.”

Shrugging his shoulders, the musician undid his seatbelt and shouted for everyone to gather right outside the van. Once he got the students in a small circle, he handed over the chocolate bars and spoke about general rules of conduct before, while, and after visiting the campus. Even though he’d tried his best to get permission from the university for them to play calmly, no one had responded to his calls or e-mails. Nevertheless, just like his learners, he was a rebel. He wouldn’t have limited himself just because some old, lifeless people had immediately turned him down. Assigning roles to place the instruments in the small park right in front of the Humanities Faculty, Jean sent each student off to get what was needed out of Sasha’s car. Already standing in the car park, he found Connie passing the objects on to his kids. Bowing ever so slightly, he thanked his friends from afar before checking that nothing else was missing. Taking his guitar off Falco’s right shoulder, he offered the teen a fist bump to assure him they would do just fine.

The large group hurriedly went through the venue’s main entrance, Reiner serving as support in case anything went wrong. Fortunately, the guards were used to having all kinds of people visit the Humanities and Arts Faculties, so they made no fuss at all at the sight of so many starry-eyed children. Getting a few pats on his shoulder, he turned around to stare at his three friends, two of whom had been like family all those years. Shooting his eyes up to the sky, he bit his lower lip trying to prevent the smile he’d always wanted to form so genuinely. There may not have been his brother beside him, yet his life had somehow improved on so many levels with the help of his other friends. As if going back in time, he remembered how keen Marco had been on Jean fulfilling his dreams, doing well, and staying healthy. Back then, Jean would’ve possibly never dreamed of experiencing such a big day ahead of him. After his death, he wasn’t even able to picture a future life at all, yet breathing in the cold air around them brought him back to what he’d looked forward to having: joy. Resting his right hand on top of his chest, he stood in silence for some seconds, wishing Marco his best and promising he would give it his all to have the life both had always deserved.

Looking out for Gabi and Zofia, who’d made sure to save the place right in front of the Humanities faculty, Jean’s eyes found a figure he hadn’t counted on encountering ever again. Stopping on his tracks, he put his hand on Reiner’s upper left arm, gesturing in the man’s direction questioningly. Right as Reiner turned his head to see the tall, lean figure walking around campus, they were interrupted by Bertholdt running in their direction. If it hadn’t been for the fact that Jean was the adult in charge of the students, he would’ve already taken a detour to check if the person he’d been around was who he thought it was.

“You’ve got eight minutes, guys,” Reiner’s boyfriend announced, taking two big amps in his hands. “Class starts in like… ten, but you can imagine how hyped up Armin gets about being there on time.”

“Is he anywhere he can see us?” Jean asked him, quickening his walking pace as they got closer to their make-do stage right next to the small park’s fountain. “He isn’t meant to notice before we start playing.”

“You know people will be all over you guys, right? Look, they’re already trying to get near the kids.”

Running towards his students, Jean provided the final instructions about timing and asked them to go over their playing individually. While Bertholdt and Reiner helped to plug the instruments to the amplifiers, Jean listened to Falco’s guitar, trained the teens singing in the choir behind him, and practiced his singing with Gabi. Fixing the final details of their performance, Jean smiled for the first time at all of them, and it was such a wholesome gesture to the teenagers that he didn’t need any words to provide further support.

* * *

Jean's steps were louder than the murmured words of the audience. Jean's anxiety was louder than the eyelashes that were battered at him in unison as he hung his guitar near his waist. However, he didn’t feel like there were any people waiting for his failure to come. There’d be no failing chances at all.

Walking closer to the mic, he turned his back on his school band to begin the show. One, two, three...

"Good afternoon. We’re Saint Rose’s International School music band, and today we’ve brought some songs for you," he said in a low voice, eyeing the huge crowd around them. "We’d like to thank the friends who helped us get here. Being a teacher, you guys can imagine I can’t afford to have two cars at all.”

Hearing the laughter come from the rest of the band’s audience, Reiner made sure to give Gabi and Falco some positive gestures before getting lost in the large group of college students. While he heard Jean talk, he looked around to try and spot Armin, though he wasn’t sure they would find him anywhere near the stage. Buzzing in his pocket, he found his phone ringing again with a pending call from his boyfriend. That had been the signal they had all agreed on. Raising his hand for Jean to look at him, he waved it a few times before the teacher’s eyes widened at him. Reiner could tell how nervous the guy was, but he had nothing left to do but help him make it as perfect as possible. Beaming in his direction, he was pushed against a body frame that felt way too familiar to be just another guy. Turning his head, his eyes narrowed at the sight of Eren standing next to him, not less bewildered than he showed to be. The other man’s questioning stare was clear in its inquiry: he wanted to know what Jean was doing in his territory. However, as he lifted his head to look at the second floor of the Humanities building, he hummed apologetically. It wasn’t his place to say anything at all, so when Yeager's eyes followed his, they both understood that no discussion was to take part as Armin’s blonde hair showed up like a flash of lightning.

The Literature student ran down the corridor as fast as he could, trying his best not to hit other people in his way. With an armful of highlighted pages, he looked behind him to warn Bertholdt about getting late to class. When the taller man took him by the arm, he did his best not to come up with a lame excuse to hide his academic anxiety. Feeling his hand encircle his left wrist, Armin stopped and listened to the faint sound of a guitar being strummed in the background. Standing there in his friend’s company, he had trouble understanding the bright eyes looking in his direction. Shyly, and maybe a bit afraid of what he would find, he shut his mouth to listen to the faint playing of a keyboard along with the guitar. Turning his head to look down onto where the music came from, Armin felt his heart beat faster when his eyes found Jean’s looking back at his.

_So, if you want something and you call, call, then I’ll come running_

Watching the scene before him made Armin’s chest tighten, suddenly making him forget about the pressure he usually put himself into before every lesson. Rather lifelessly, he held on to the veranda, letting all his notes and assigned readings fall on his shoes loudly. To him, musicals had always been what made him feel distracted from the drama involved in films. Music in film was what made him cherish happy endings because, no matter how tough it got, there was always a song that would help movie characters get by. As if Jean’s eyes had been engraved in his mind, he was suddenly reminded of how songs in his own life made it easier to get by. Jean himself was one of those songs, and having him play and sing with his children for him moved him as nothing else could.

Gabi played her keyboard, sitting next to Jean and singing with him, and it made Armin shed some tears he was quick to dry out of his face. Completely stunned by what awaited him downstairs, the college student let his eyes roam around the group of musicians, finding Falco playing the guitar alongside his teacher. Behind them, there was a small group of students standing quietly. If the people around him were lucky, they would have a tiny choir sing for them as well. Taking a few steps away from the scene, he let his eyes met Bertholdt’s, which still looked sincere with a spark of indecipherable emotion. Armin would’ve never guessed that song had been rehearsed to be a serenade.

“Should I go?” he whispered, staring up at his classmate with a wavering voice.

“I still don’t know what you’re doing here,” Bertholdt giggled, tapping the tip of his nose lightly.

_When your mind’s made up, there’s no point even talking_

As if waiting for that sign, Armin kicked his papers and fled the tile he stood on while Jean’s singing remained in the background. As he ran towards the stairs, he swore he could feel his heartbeat in unison with Halil’s drumming. Singing under his breath, the young man did his best to fly down the stairs, though his excitement made his body feel numb and unmanageable. His legs didn’t move at the speed he wanted them to, his cheeks hurt from the smile that was plastered on his face, and not enough air could get in his lungs to breathe properly. Although his body wasn’t of much help to the situation at hand, Armin felt nothing but delight at the sound of his lover’s voice and music arrangements. It showed how much his children had worked for it to sound as perfectly as it did, so he felt proud of Jean and his hard work at school. It was nothing less than remarkable.

When Armin got to the end of the seemingly endless flight of stairs, he stopped for a second to regain some strength. Breathing in and out, he lifted his head to stare at the band in the middle of the crowd. Still from far away, he could feel the Music teacher’s chocolate eyes look his way, trying to find a specific shade of blue in the eyes that stared at him. Walking slowly, Armin approached the people who were listening to the school band attentively. As much as one could expect some to be holding interesting conversations, to Armin’s surprise, that wasn’t the case. Everyone’s eyes were on Jean, and a rush of happiness came over him as if it had been infectious. Still hurting, the corners of his lips lifted more and more as he took some steps further, getting nearer and nearer the center stage. Right there on the first floor, the sound quality was exquisite, and when Jean and Gabi hit the highest notes together, it felt like his heart had been lifted with his spirits all over again. Pushing past some students, not caring about how bashfully he could do so, he soon found himself standing in the front row. Moving his fringe to the side, he used his hand to block the sunlight blinding him from watching his lover. Never taking his eyes away from Jean’s, he admired the work of the school band as every student did their best singing the last verses before their teacher would take over again.

Just like in the original version, nothing but Jam and Gabi’s keyboard remained, making Armin’s heart tighten. Singing no way louder than in a whisper, Jean sang the final verse of the song as both men’s eyes filled with tears. After the crowd erupted in loud cheering and applause, Armin took some steps forward until he was some centimeters away from the singer. His ocean eyes wandered around Jean’s figure, taking in the details of his hands holding the old guitar so dearly as he received the standing ovation. It was inevitable for him to recall how Jean had been when they’d officially met and how much he’d changed from that point onwards. Armin felt the air caught in his throat leave his mouth rapidly, making him breathless in presence of the magnificence that Jean’s development was in his eyes. Holding out a hand for Jean to hold, he waited with a shy smile, never leaving the other man’s stare. He could feel the children practically implode around them, yet it showed that Jean couldn’t care less when he pulled him into a tight embrace wordlessly.

“I’m so sorry about everything I put you through,” Armin found himself saying after some seconds of silence and comfort. Although he’d tried his best to refrain from sobbing, there he was, doing it anyway. “I-“

“I don’t care,” Jean murmured and sighed, separating him just enough for his lips to touch his blonde crown. “I love you.”

After Jean’s proposal, Armin had never given him an answer. Jean had been respectful enough not to ask about it again, trying his best not to make the younger man nervous about it all. Nevertheless, Armin knew there was a pending answer for him to give as he bit his lower lip, looking sideways and feeling the blood rush to his cheeks. Nodding way too fast, yet not enough for him to regret it, he smiled with tears running down his face.

“I love you, too,” Armin said when everyone had fallen silent around them, and the look he got from Jean was enough for him to know how much he was loved in return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Both the chapter and fic titles were taken from Harry Styles' _Golden_. All of the songs featured in this story mean the world to me, and I hope they weren't too invasive.  
> A million thanks to you, who stayed with me every letter of the way. Thanks for the feedback and support. See you next time.


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